


Nico the fitness trainer AU

by ladyballs_and_manboobs



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cliffhangers, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, pilates to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyballs_and_manboobs/pseuds/ladyballs_and_manboobs
Summary: Martino has to take pilates class with the girls after losing a bet to Elia.It doesn't turn out as bad as he feared.





	1. Stupefacente

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to my talented beta grindeldore27 and enabler bluejeanswhiteshrt

In hindsight, Martino should have just kept his mouth shut and let Elia humiliate them all with his inhuman FIFA skills. But his own spectacular win over Gio last week made him bold and stupid. So he took the bet.

“Let’s give it six tries. If Martino beats me, I will print his face on a t-shirt and wear it to class every day for a week. Sounds good?”

“Let’s make it two weeks.”

“You’re a goddamn narcissist, Martino. But ok. And if I win…you’ll have to join the girls in their pilates class. For a month.”

“How do you get two weeks and I get a month?”

“They only have pilates three times a week. That’s 12 days of humiliation only.”

“So you just have to wear a t-shirt and I have to sweat for 12 days.”

“It might be good for you anyway, you’re getting chubby.”

Martino swats Elia for that, but in the end the deal is struck, with Gio and Luchino as witnesses. And this is how, just three hours later, Martino dumps his entire wardrobe on the floor in the futile search for his only pair of gym shorts.

Fuck Elia, fuck FIFA, and fuck his life.

* * *

 

On the way to the gym he almost manages to persuade himself that he doesn’t care. So what if he’s going to spend 12 hours in a room full of giggling girls and move his arms and do some stretches. Their laughter doesn’t scare him, because unlike his friends, he doesn’t care whether girls find him cool and attractive. But it’s not like his friends need to know that.

Ah, perfect. He’s going to THANK Elia for putting him in the same room with the girls and then watch the triumph in his eyes die and be replaced with helpless envy.

Martino is still congratulating himself on this brilliantly cruel idea when he joins the flock of girls entering the pilates room. Some of them are total strangers (he gets weird looks and giggles from those), while Eva and her squad look informed about his situation (so it’s just giggles from them).

Whatever. He picks a spot well behind everyone else, puts down his mom’s blue yoga mat (a gift from a friend that she ended up using twice), and bends down to chuck off his trainers. The girls’ chatter is suddenly replaced by hushed, excited murmurs, and Martino lifts his head from his task.

His eyes zero in on a lean figure clad in grey shorts and a loose red tank top. The guy is crouching next to an ancient-looking boombox that he must have brought with him, carefully feeding it a CD. A fricking compact disc, in this day and age, when a mobile speaker stand is right there on the windowsill.

Martino is distracted from his scornful musings by Silvia’s anxious voice. “Excuse me, is Coach Patrizia not coming today?”

The guy stands up gracefully, revealing a mop of unruly black curls kept off his forehead with a bandana headband. He sweeps the room with a friendly look before finding Silvia and her limply raised hand.

“Unfortunately, Coach Patrizia had a bad fall on her hiking trip this weekend and will need a couple of weeks to recover at least. My name is Niccolò, I’m studying Sports and Exercise Medicine. I also work as a substitute coach in my spare time, so you ladies-“ his eyes suddenly jump to the last row and Martino feels like a deer in the headlights, “-and a gentleman, will be in my care for the time being. Questions?”

Eva’s hand flies up immediately. Martino would love to mentally berate her for acting like a first-grader, but his knees feel kinda weak and his throat is dry and he thinks he might be in big big trouble.

“Are we going to follow the same program as with Patrizia?”

“Generally, yes, but if you don’t mind I’ll teach you some good moves from pump and stretching programs as well.” His whole body does a peculiar little wiggle and Martino swears he can hear Silvia go awwwww. “Let’s spice things up a bit!”

The smile that follows that announcement is so devastating that the girls don’t ask any more questions. Or if they do, Martino doesn’t hear it. His brain is filled with static.

_Bella merda, eh?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title song Stupefacente by Frah Quintale
> 
> thanks for reading this far! let me know what you think


	2. No warning

“In…and out…and in…and out…keep going…feels so good…you feeling it?” **  
**

_Oh I’m feeling it_ , Martino thinks, sweating. His ass is burning and he knows he’ll be _feeling it_ for days after. But he is going to keep that leg up high if it’s the last thing he does.

See, no one warned him that Pilates was serious business and not just waving your arms around and wiggling your ass, as he had believed. And Pilates with Niccolò is.. on another level altogether, what with him being incredibly hot and incredibly demanding at the same time.

“Give me four! And three…and two…and one…and hold it! Hooooooold it…”

Martino hears Eva swear quietly as she’s struggling not to drop her wobbling leg.

“Very nice, people! 15 seconds for rest and we switch sides!”

This gets a collective groan, quickly swallowed up by the booming music. Martino sits up to grab a towel and hastily wipes his face and neck. He throws a quick glance at their trainer, now only one line of neon leggings and swishing ponytails between them.

After spending the first class craning his neck from the back row, Martino boldly occupied a better spot for the second outing. He had a very reasonable explanation. He needed to see the moves from up close to perform them just right, after all. The spectacular view of the incredibly flexible and boundlessly energetic Niccolò was just an added bonus.

“Down, up, down, up! Let’s go, guys! Don’t forget to breathe! Keep those tummies tucked in!”

_Easy for you to say, with abs like that._

The wonder of Niccolò’s abs has been revealed to him half an hour earlier, when the guy had the audacity to lift the bottom of his tank top and wipe his forehead with it. Marti almost dropped the weight plate that he was pressing away from his chest. He was  _this_  close to smashing his toes, it wasn’t even funny anymore.

Oh, but Niccolò is funny. He’s funny and cheeky and cute, and to have _that_ on top of his dashing looks is just unfair.

“Stellar job, people. One last forearm plank and we’re done. I know, I know, it’s killing me too!”

Martino met his share of hot guys, and he has a routine for handling those fleeting crushes, which effectively consists in getting to know the guy and discovering an inevitable turn-off. Most of them are either mean or stupid, so Martino has been able to preserve his peace of mind just fine.

“20 seconds left! I’m so proud of you! We can do this, come on!”

Whines of complaint are coming from all sides now. Silvia and a couple of other girls drop helplessly to their stomachs, and Martino loses his train of thought as his entire body starts quaking with exhaustion.

“10 seconds! Marti, don’t give up now! You’re doing great!”

_Marti._

_Mar. Ti._

There’s no explanation, no warning (once again). Niccolò’s voice just wraps around his name like it’s the most natural thing, and Martino feels himself blush from the praise.  

Niccolò puts on a slow track for the final stretches and starts to walk between the rows to ensure 100% commitment from the grunting girls. Martino suddenly  regrets every single time he was lazy during Boccia’s classes, because he surely cannot reach his toes.

The struggle takes so much of his attention that he doesn’t notice Niccolò kneeling behind him. Two hot palms land softly just below his shoulder blades, making him jump. Niccolò starts pushing him ever so gently, and then there’s a deep voice in his ear.

“Breathe, Marti. Breeeeeathe.”

This is one thing Martino absolutely cannot do right now.

The rest of the class passes in a daze. Niccolò gets them to applaud their own great effort, the girls surround him with urgent concerns about their diets, and everyone drags their dumbbells and body bars to their rightful places. For once, Martino is grateful for all the commotion. It gives him a perfect cover to slip out, pick up his bag and leave the gym before anyone can stop him.

He needs a beer, and some space to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this far! let me know what you think


	3. Futile devices

“Bro, not to be ungrateful, but this tastes like piss.” 

“And how would you know that? Do you want to tell us something?” 

“Fuck off. I’m not taking that back.” 

“The door is right there, Santini.” 

“No, guys...guys. Calm down. Nobody’s going anywhere. He’s joking, Peccio, your beer is sublime. Can I have some more?”

Appeased, Peccio pats Luchino on the back and gets off the couch. He sways dangerously, but manages to stumble in the general direction of the kitchen. Elia groans into Giovanni’s shoulder.  

“Why couldn’t we get proper beers at the Coop and go to your place like we always do?” 

Martino’s thoughts are running along similar lines. The plan was slightly different when he was leaving the gym, but then the squad summoned him to Peccio’s and he couldn’t find it in him to refuse. Also, free beer. Who says no to that?

Now, he’s half-lying in an armchair, feeling dizzy and sweaty, his body at the mercy of bad alcohol and his mind replaying _Marti, Marti_ on a loop.

“Marti, oh! Stay with us!” 

God he hates Elia right now.

“How are your booty workouts going, by the way?”

Luchino perks up immediately. “Yeah, Marti, give us the nasty details!” 

“Ugh… there are no nasty details. It’s okay. I guess.” _Why does my tongue feel so big? Gross._  

“Look at this little liar. You’re not fooling us.” 

“Trust me, bro, it’s boring as hell. The music is stupid and Silvia never shuts up.” Martino manages to sit up and congratulates himself on not puking. “Actually…Elì, bro, I wanted to ask you a favor. I know I lost and I’m totally ready to honor the bet, but.. maybe you could think of something else for me to do? Like.. I could wash your dad’s car. Or, I don’t know, piggyback you from class to class for three weeks?” 

 _Anything to avoid embarrassing myself in front of a straight dude and a bunch of gossips._  

For a moment it looks like Elia is considering it. But when a smug grin takes over his friend’s face, Martino knows he’s doomed. 

“Sorry, bro, dura lex, sed lex. Let this trying experience help you grow as a person.” Elia is cackling like a cartoon witch now. Gio gives them both a concerned look. “And no slacking. We check in with Eva every time, so I’ll know if you try to skip.” 

Helpless rage rises in Martino, but before he can say anything foolish, Peccio is back with more hellish beers for the company. He demands to know what they’re discussing and Martino takes his phone out, trying to make it obvious he doesn’t care to hear that story retold. Let them gloat.

* * *

There’s nothing of note happening on Twitter, and his battery is too low to start playing a game. He opens Whatsapp, sends a bunch of furious emojis to Gio, informs his mom he’s going to be home late and finally looks at the chat on top of the list – the one with over 200 unread messages. 

Silvia dutifully added him to the Pilates group chat the first day he showed up, and that was coincidentally the same day he muted it (just leaving would be rude). And now, well. Martino really has nothing better to do than scroll through it. The last 15 or so messages turn out to be Instagram links followed by tons of emojis and keysmashing, so he taps one at random and waits for the app to load. 

 _Madonna._  

It’s a photo of Niccolò. He looks slightly younger, his hair even crazier than it is now, snapping a mirror selfie at the gym. His left arm is flexed to show off the bicep, his chin is raised in mock defiance, and his tank says LET’S GET IT in bold black letters. It’s simultaneously the best and the worst image Martino has ever seen.

Head swimming, he taps on the profile name (restless_nico_2000) and then it’s a deluge of images, a lot of them from the gym, some from the beach, and a handful from what must be Niccolò’s bathroom. Almost all are selfies featuring some part of Niccolò’s sculpted body, sunkissed, glistening with sweat, or thrown into sharp relief by artificial lighting. 

Martino’s mouth fills with saliva. He can’t stop scrolling. 

“Woah, who’s that?” 

Luchino’s voice jerks him out of his trance and he drops the phone on his face. _Cazzocazzocazzo._  

“No one. A coach. That I know. From…the gym.” _That didn’t sound weird at all. Bravo Marti._  

“Really? Can I have a look?” 

Martino wants to say no, but then he notices how quiet the room has become. Gio and Elia and Peccio must be smoking on the porch or inspecting the craft beer factory. 

“I think I need to start working out. Girls like buff dudes, no? Maybe your coach can help me.” Luchino is slurring but he sounds sincere and sort of sad, so Marti hands over the phone and stalks off to the bathroom.

* * *

After peeing some of Peccio’s poison out and splashing his face with cold water, Martino feels somewhat more human. At the very least he’s able to return to the living room without using the wall for balance, a creditable achievement at this point. 

Luchino is sitting on the floor, his eyes fixated on Martino’s phone as he mutters “woah, cool” every few seconds. Peccio and Elia are peeking at the screen over his shoulder, poking each other’s sides and laughing. 

Martino stops in his tracks, his insides twisting with dread. “Eh.. What’s going on?” 

Elia answers him, but only after another fit of giggles. 

“Come look, bro, Luchi found some _tamarro da palestra_ on Instagram and keeps liking his photos!” 

Martino lunges over the coffee table, knocking off cups and fast food containers, and tackles a shrieking Luchino to the ground. In the next minute, he’s lying on his stomach, trying to reach his phone that ended up under Peccio’s sofa. Elia is laughing like a madman, Peccio is cursing him for breaking the table, and Gio is pleading for everyone to calm down. 

Eventually, the device is retrieved, although dusty and with a fresh crack across the screen. Panting, Martino scrolls up and up through dozens of Niccolò’s cocky photos. Every single one is now marked by a red heart in the bottom left corner. _Unbelievable._  

“Fucking hell! Luchi, why would you do that?!” His angry outburst stuns the room into silence. 

Luchino looks up at him warily and shrugs. “The photos are cool. I’d hire him.” 

Martino wants to scream, but he’s made enough of a scene already. _I need to get out. Now._  

“I’m out of here.” Without giving himself time to reconsider, he grabs his backpack and heads for the door.

Gio catches up with him on the porch. 

“What’s gotten into you, bro? You know Luchi didn’t do it to piss you off, he’s just wasted.” 

He wishes he could explain. Gio has always been so good at helping him sort out messy feelings. But this time, Martino has to do it on his own. 

“I know, okay? I know. I’m just.. really not feeling it tonight, Gio. I need to get home. Please tell Luchi I didn’t mean to yell at him.” 

Gio nods and pats his shoulder. “Okay. Text me when you arrive.” 

“Sure, mom.”

* * *

He’s barely a block away when his long-suffering phone buzzes in his pocket. 

 _restless_nico_2000: Hello stalker?_  

Martino sucks in a breath. _Just great._ Niccolò must be quite amused after getting 50 Instagram notifications in one night. Or he’s annoyed as hell. Either way, Martino looks like a dumbass.  

He starts typing out a response, but his fingers are slipping and he keeps deleting whole sentences and none of it wants to make any sense. Finally, he presses the microphone icon and explains as best he can.  

"Hi coach I mean hi Niccolò sorry for stalking I swear it was Luchino my friend he liked all the photos because he had my phone and we were drinking I wasn’t trying to freak you out or anything I’m still a bit pissed so sorry if I sound weird never mind okay bye."

Martino stands under a streetlight, grips his phone tightly and waits for a response.  

 _restless_nico_2000: Marti are you ok? Are you home?_  

Martino gulps. His thumbs hover over the screen. 

 _no I’m not home_  

 _restless_nico_2000: Do you need someone to come pick you up?_  

He stares at the words, dumbfounded. Is Niccolò offering to pick him up? Is he telling him to get a taxi? What is he supposed to say? But he doesn’t have much time to consider when, out of nowhere, a wave of nausea hits him. He swallows repeatedly, raises his chin and draws deep breaths until the feeling passes. When he looks at his phone again, there’s just one message before the screen goes dark. 

_Please connect your charger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tamarro da palestra - an annoying gym jock that shows off too much
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! Let me know what you think.


	4. Call me Nico

Martino wakes up feeling like he fell down the stairs the night before. Everything rustles and wobbles and sparkles as he’s finding his way to the bathroom by touch, the world jumping at him like an overexcited Labrador puppy. He tries to puke, but there’s nothing left. He accepts the fact without trying to remember how that came to be.

The notepad on the fridge says _Dear son, I was extremely disappointed to see you in such a state yesterday. We shall talk about it later._ Martino rolls his eyes and tears that slip of paper off, only to find another note under it. _Don’t you dare roll your eyes._ He tears that one off too. _We ran out of coffee, the last Nespresso pod is in the machine. Love you. Mom._

“I love you too”, he chuckles, and goes rummaging for a clean espresso cup.

Breakfast manages to lift his spirits until he recalls last night’s Instagram fiasco. Martino checks his phone anxiously and finds no new messages from Niccolò or from the boys. The cursed Pilates chat, however, is full of vibrant conversation. Martino feels an urge to quit it, once and for all, but curiosity takes over. Just a peep. 

 _oh my god guys. OH. MY. GOD. his shoulders. his waist. his everything._  

 _move aside, Coach Patrizia! is he single, does anyone know?_  

 _he looks like a total fuckboy, come on... Pass._  

 _who cares! I would let Niccolò raw me right there on my little mat_  

Martino coughs out a bit of buttered toast.

He looks through 30 or so similar messages in sick fascination. It never occurred to him that girls could express themselves so explicitly. _Elia would surely have an aneurysm if he read this._  Besides, seeing Niccolò’s body discussed in such detail gives him a weirdly protective feeling that he doesn’t want to explore.

On the way to class Martino plucks up the courage to re-read his chat with Niccolò. It’s much more embarrassing than he remembers, and listening to his own panicky, incoherent voice message makes him want to jump into traffic. No wonder Niccolò decided that Martino needed rescuing.

_Would he really have gotten in the car to come and find me?_

Martino shakes his head to banish the thought. Nothing good can come out of daydreaming.

He thinks about texting Niccolò. _Sorry for yesterday. I was drunk and looking at your pictures. I looked at them again when I was sober and you’re still so fucking se-_

No. He needs to talk to Niccolò and explain what happened. In person. Like an adult. Tomorrow.

* * *

The boys accept his apology easily enough, Luchino apologizing in return for taking liberties with his phone.

“Did that guy react in any way?” Luchino asks, and Martino wills his face to stay neutral.

“No. Not a peep from the guy.”

“Huh. He must be getting tons of likes all the time.”

 “Yeah, must be it. You guys finished the essay?” Martino is desperate to change the topic, and thankfully, Elia catches his drift.

 “I don’t know bro, did I finish the essay, or did the essay finish me?”

* * *

Thursday and most of Friday go by quietly, with very little to distract Martino from agonizing over the approaching talk with Niccolò. He acts out at least five possible scenarios in his head. All of them end with Niccolò asking why Martino was looking at his profile in the first place, and Martino swallowing his tongue. 

His nerves bring him to the gym 20 minutes early. Martino wanders into the eerily quiet Pilates room, walks up to the mirror wall to check his hair, finds a fresh pimple on his chin and a toothpaste stain on his shorts, picks up every size of dumbbell from yellow to grey, jumps to try and touch the ceiling... He can’t stay still.

Finally, he sits on a gym ball and tries to keep his feet off the ground without sliding down. It proves an extremely difficult task, but Martino manages to find his balance and starts counting in his mind.

“I like ambitious students!” Niccolò’s cheerful voice rings across the empty room, and Martino flops sideways to the floor. “Oops, you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Martino scrambles up hastily and dusts himself off. _Why am I like this?_

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s fine. No worries.” Niccolò swaggers over to him, one hand occupied with the boombox. It’s a blue tank top day. Martino bites the inside of his cheek before tearing his eyes away from Niccolò’s delicate collarbone and meeting his eyes.

They’re green, he realizes now, translucent, crinkling at the corners to match Niccolò’s wide smile.

“Early bird?” Niccolò asks, and Martino stares back at him in confusion.

“What? Ah, no, I just… I wanted to apologize to you. For Wednesday night. It was really stupid, my friends played a joke on me and then my phone died before I could explain…” Niccolò squeezes his shoulder gently and Martino’s speech dies in his throat.

“Marti, you don’t have to explain anything. I’m just glad you’re ok and back in class, yeah?”

“But, Niccolò…”

“Don’t worry about it, ok? And call me Nico.” He looks so earnest that Martino feels a huge weight lift off his chest.

“Okay…Nico.” A relieved smile blooms on his face, and for a second they just stand there, beaming at each other, until Nico turns away to put the boombox down and plug it in.

“Since you’re here already, you can help me with a thing.” 

“A thing?” Martino crouches next to Nico, curious. _He’s kind of small, I never noticed that before._  

“You can help me pick the music. We’ll be doing a lot of cardio today, no more lazing about.” Nico winks at him and Martino rolls his eyes, laughing. 

“So, what we were doing before, that was the easy part? I almost died in that plank.” 

Nico pouts. “Aw, don’t underestimate yourself. You might be new to this, but you have good core strength. It just takes a bit of practice. You’ll get there.” 

Once again, Martino feels absurdly pleased at the compliment. To distract himself, he grabs a CD from a pile that Nico seems to have conjured out of thin air. 

“MC Hammer, Spice Girls, and Destiny’s Child? How old _is_ this thing?” 

“Well, what would you suggest, Mr Fresh Face? The 90s are where it’s at. Here, have your pick.  Madonna, Ricky Martin, or Fatboy Slim for today. That’s my final proposal.” 

“Nooooo….” Martino hides his face in his hands, giggling, feels Nico’s shoulder bump into his. “Alright, alright, let it be Ricky Martin. My mom used to be crazy about him.” 

Nico looks impressed. “Your mom has taste. You should bring her along.” His smile is teasing, but Martino still gasps in fake horror. 

“I’m not doing Pilates with my mom. She would surely tell Gio next time he’s staying and he would never stop teasing me.” 

“Oh? And who’s Gio? Your brother?” 

“Gio’s my best friend.” Nico stays silent, eyes searching Martino’s face, and Martino finds himself compelled to continue. 

He tells Nico about his squad, about the lost bet, about Peccio’s beer and Luchino’s plans to work out. He slyly omits the source of the Instagram link, but Nico doesn’t ask about that. He seems incredibly easy to talk to and so amused by Martino’s shenanigans that he can’t help but laugh out loud. Martino rakes his brain for more and more stories just to hear that sound again. 

The girls start filing in, chattering and laughing. Nico stands up to greet them warmly, giving out smiles and high fives, inquiring after absentees and announcing today’s exercise program. Martino feels irritated about the interruption. He _actually_ managed to forget that there was a class about to start.

* * *

The Ricky Martin cardio routine goes about as well as Martino expected – by the end of it he’s so exhausted he can barely stand. Before leaving, Nico claps him on the back and calls him a trooper, and there’s a warm burst of feeling in Martino’s chest that bubbles up to his lips. He can’t keep it in.

“See you Monday, Nico?” 

The guy turns back to him, almost surprised, then gives Marti one of his million dollar smiles. “See you Monday, Marti. Enjoy your weekend.” 

Nico raises his fist, and after a moment’s confusion, Martino bumps his own against it. “You too.”

Martino is still half-dressed in the locker room when his phone chimes with messages from Elia. 

 _hey bro_    
_I thought about it and I’m ready to swap your punishment if you help me with those translations_    
_10 pages till the end of next week and you’re off the hook. no more booty workouts. Deal?_  

Martino chews on his lower lip. Taps his foot a couple of times. Then starts typing. 

_No deal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tricky one. Thanks for reading this far! Let me know what you think.


	5. Long story

_Quiet weekends are the worst_ , Martino thinks. He tries to avoid them at any cost, tries to plan ahead, get out of the house this way or another. But this week, the week he started going to Pilates with Nico, turned out to be so distracting that he forgot about such precautions.

Now he finds himself stuck in an empty house, his mom off to visit his aunt, Gio dragged away for another nephew’s christening, Elia doing the translation that Martino refused to help him with, and Luchi grounded after his porn folder got discovered. There’s nothing good in the movies and he doesn’t feel like going out anyway with the sky over Rome overcast since morning.

It’s barely 12 am, and here’s a full list of Martino’s doings so far:

  * stayed in bed so late he felt like a literal sloth
  * brushed his teeth
  * watched Scottecs* videos over breakfast
  * turned on the washing machine with his and his mom’s sheets
  * played some FIFA
  * tried to message Elia and got the middle finger emoji in response
  * fin



His last resort – the Pilates chat – has seemingly come to a standstill around 11pm yesterday. One of the girls announced she couldn’t find any signs of Nico having a girlfriend on his Instagram, prompting Eva to go on a long emoji-peppered rant about respecting other people’s privacy. Martino was torn between mentally applauding Eva and feeling irrationally pleased about the ‘no girlfriend’ intelligence. _As if that’s any of your business._

* * *

It’s 3 pm and here’s a full list of Martino’s doings since the last time:

  * talked to his mom on the phone, found out she’ll be back later than planned
  * received an eye-wateringly cute picture of Gio holding his tiny pink-cheeked nephew
  * overboiled his pasta while playing FIFA
  * did half of his Latin homework
  * looked out of the window to see that it started raining



Martino is still playing FIFA when his phone chimes. And chimes again. And again. It happens about five more times before he finally pauses the game with a groan and goes to retrieve the device, its screen crowded with Instagram notifications.

_tuttaromaapiedi started following you_

_tuttaromaapiedi liked your post_

_tuttaromaapiedi liked your post_

_tuttaromaapiedi liked your post_

_tuttaromaapiedi liked your post_

_tuttaromaapiedi liked your post…_

Brow knitted, Marti clicks through to see a profile filled with pictures of… shoes. Shoes of different styles and colors, old and new, captured candidly as their owner was standing in front of or walking past the camera. The captions are laconic: date and place, no tags. _24.09.2018, Trastevere. 5.10.2018, Termini. 14.10.2018, Piazza Navona._

Meanwhile, new likes keep rolling in and Martino feels weirdly on display, someone’s eyes browsing through the archive of his selfies and silly squad escapades in real time.

Then he gets a DM.

_tuttaromaapiedi: Eye for an eye, stalker;)_

_martino.rametta: Nico?_

_tuttaromaapiedi: Hi Marti. How’s it going?_

Just like that, Martino’s face splits into a smile that he tries to smother before remembering he’s alone in the room. He flops onto the sofa, legs up, joystick abandoned on the floor.

_martino.rametta: Bored. You?_

_tuttaromaapiedi: Same._

_martino.rametta: No iron to pump?_

As soon as he presses send, Martino wants to slap himself, but he doesn’t have to fret for long.

_tuttaromaapiedi: Muscles need rest to grow, Marti. You lack the basics:P_

_tuttaromaapiedi: Shoulder ok after yesterday?_

So Nico noticed how Martino was rolling his shoulder and wincing after another endless plank. Martino doesn’t know what to do with this information. He files it away for later.

_martino.rametta: Fine and dandy. What’s up with all the shoes?_

_tuttaromaapiedi: Long story… Can I call you?_

_tuttaromaapiedi: If you’re not busy that is_

Martino swallows loudly. For the first time since the chat started he stops to think where this is going. And where he wants it to go. And whether Nico has any idea about Martino’s inner turmoil. The safe option, reason tells him, would be to put a lid on it. Tell Nico he’s busy with something, out with friends, shopping with mom. Anything.

But the day has been such a drag before Nico reached out to him and Martino doesn’t want to deny himself. What’s the worst that could happen?

He sends Nico his number. 

* * *

“So basically you stalk people and put pictures of them on Instagram without their consent.”

“No, I just pick a spot and watch people passing by. If I think someone’s shoes are interesting, I snap a picture. It’s not a crime, Marti.”

“Mhm.” Martino makes sure to put as much scepticism into his hum as possible.

Nico huffs, exasperated. “The important thing is that those shoes tell a story. About the person’s life, about where they’re going, how they feel about themselves.”

“You can deduce all that from looking at someone’s shoes? What about my shoes then?”

 _Oh god Martino shut up, you’re annoying and he’s going to hang up on you._ But Nico is making thoughtful sounds, like he’s actually pondering the question.

“Okay...You have several pairs of Nike sneakers but these are your favorite. You also wear them outside – which is against the gym’s policy, by the way – and you’ve been taking good care of them, so it’s not as obvious that you’ve had them for almost two years. Did I do well?”

Martino gapes at the kitchen wall, the knife in his right hand suspended above the chopping board.

“How? How do you know all this?”

Nico’s laugh on the other end of the line is somehow warm and smug at the same time. He starts explaining his complicated thought process, the color of Martino’s shoelaces somehow pointing to the year the shoes were issued, etc., etc. Martino’s eyes land on the oven’s clock and he realizes that they’ve been talking about everything and nothing for two hours non-stop.

He’s been wandering around the house with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, completing small chores and touching things absentmindedly as Nico tells him about his secret shoe Instagram and his volunteering experience in London, the weird people he meets in the gym and the wacky professors he has at uni. Nico asks Martino a lot of questions as well, about his favorite sports teams and music and video games. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that Martino is not well-traveled or particularly talented, or in any way cool. They never run out of things to discuss.

“Marti? You there?”

Nico’s concerned voice snaps Martino back to the present and he tosses the finely chopped garlic into the bowl with herbs and olive oil.

“Yup, I’m listening, go on.”

Nico pauses and sighs. “I must be boring you already.”

“Not true!” Martino protests. “Please, keep talking. I’ll just put you on speaker ok, I need to put the focaccia in the oven.”

Putting Nico on speaker is a great decision, because suddenly his deep voice is filling every corner of the Ramettas’ little kitchen.

“So you’re a great cook, huh?”

Martino shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if Nico could actually see him right now. “I’m not a great anything, I just don’t like going hungry.” He opens the oven and winces against the wave of heat that hits his face. “This is an easy recipe anyway, I learned it from my gran in Cecina.”

“A recipe passed down through generations? I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.”

Martino smirks as he slides the tray with the focaccia inside the oven and shuts the door carefully. “Not as delicious as a protein shake, I bet.”

There it is again, Nico’s infectious laugh that makes Martino feel like he passed some kind of test with flying colors. “I’ll have you know, my grandma makes the best protein shakes in Umbria.”

Martino snorts and returns to the sofa, places the phone on the armrest by his side. They continue trading silly jokes about grandmas and sports nutrition until Martino hears a distant ping followed by the rustle of freshly-made popcorn pouring into a bowl. “Getting ready for a movie night, Nico?” _He’s going to hang up soon._

“Eh, you know, just caught a rerun of Judgment Day on Rai 4.”

“Yeah? I never really got to watch it.”

Nico emits a scandalized gasp. “Are you serious? You can’t be serious. You’re not telling me you missed the best action movie from the 90s.”

“There he goes with his 90s fetish again.” Martino tries to stay nonchalant, but Nico’s reaction makes him self-conscious. _Way to let him know how boring you are._

Nico ignores the dig entirely. “We’re going to fix this. Turn the TV on, quick.”

“You do realize you can’t order me around when we’re not in the gym?”

“You got anything better to do?”

Suddenly Martino knows, deep in his gut, that he’d do whatever Nico asks of him right now. “No, not really.”

“Go on then, I’ll explain the plot on the go. You didn’t miss much.”

Martino is flipping through the channels to Rai 4 as Nico goes off about Skynet and the war against the machines. It slowly dawns on him that Nico is not planning to hang up. They are actually going to watch a whole movie with commercial breaks like cavemen.

“You’re gonna LOVE Sarah Connor, Marti. We can’t be friends if you don’t, sorry.”

Martino is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

* * *

The chase scene has Martino on the edge of his seat, and both of them whoop when the truck of the bad Terminator goes up in flames as Arnold and the boy speed away on their bike.

“Is he destroyed?”

“We’re not even halfway through the movie, Marti, what do you think? Ah, it’s on commercial break again. You have time to grab some snacks.”

“Shit, the focaccia!” Martino shoots up from the sofa and half-runs, half-slides to the kitchen in his socks. Thankfully, he gets there just in time to save a slightly overdone focaccia from burning to a crisp.  

“Did it turn out ok?” Nico’s voice filters in from the living room where Martino left the phone. Like he’s actually sitting there, waiting for Martino to come back with a plate of food and keep watching a movie together.

Martino has to yell to make sure Nico hears him across the room. “My nonna would bin this, but I think it’s good enough.”

“Snap a picture! I want to judge for myself.”

“Bossy,” Martino murmurs to himself, carefully cutting the focaccia and arranging it on the plate to bring along.  

* * *

“I know now why you cry….but it’s something I can never do.”

The good Terminator walks over to the edge and starts lowering himself into the molten metal with John and his mother looking on solemnly. Martino is barely holding it together.

“Oh, by the way, did you know they changed the _Hasta la vista, baby_ for Spanish-speaking audiences? He says _Sayonara, baby_ instead. I didn’t even know until last year when I was in Madrid and they were showing it on TV... I’d watched this scene like a million times before and I never knew! Crazy, right?...Marti?”

“What?” Martino’s terrified of the way his voice breaks, giving him away.

Nico’s voice goes soft, uncertain. “Are you crying?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Awww, Marti...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have rambled when you were having a moment.” Nico sounds genuinely guilty.

“Oh, fuck off. I just thought they’ll be, like, a family by the end and now it’s just him and his mom against the world and...yeah.”

“It’s really a bittersweet ending. But you liked it overall, no?”

“I loved it. Thank you.” _For everything._

“You’re welcome.” There’s a quiet moment when Nico arranges some plates in the cabinet and rinses his glass. Martino turns the speaker off, puts the phone to his ear.

“I’m running out of battery again.”

Nico laughs, clearly remembering Wednesday night. Before Martino can add anything else, he hears the telltale sounds of his mom entering the flat and immediately dropping her bag in the hallway.

“I’m home! Wow, what’s that wonderful smell? I’m hungry like a wolf!”

“Is that your mom? She seems cool.”

“Yeah, gotta go, sorry.” Somehow, it feels wrong to end the conversation in this way. “Was a pleasure talking to you.” _A pleasure talking to you? Are you sixty?_

“Same. Goodnight, Marti.” Martino can tell Nico is smiling, and he can’t help smiling too.

“Goodnight, Nico. Cià cià.”

He hangs up. 

The call timer says 5:05:43.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my beta said it's "perfect", so.
> 
> *you can watch Scottecs videos here https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqSmyuqVNwklKKlqqdMmV_A


	6. Tra il dire e il fare

“And then he started crying, actually screaming, and his face was all red. He looked like a big angry plum.” 

“I would probably do the same if I accidentally peed all over my godmother during my christening.” 

“Gross. And you had to hold him right after?”

 “No, bro, they put another dress on him for the photos, look.” 

Gio sits between Luca and Elia on the windowsill and starts swiping through photos of himself, all dressed up and holding the small white bundle with his nephew’s pink head sticking out of it. Elia is in awe, while Luchino squints at the baby suspiciously.

 “He doesn’t look like Gio, I don’t think.”

 Gio’s eyes roll back as Elia guffaws and starts explaining to Luchino that the baby of Gio’s twice removed cousin has no business looking like Gio, especially not at this age. Martino notices none of it, eyes glued to his own phone. 

Nico didn’t call again, but Martino received a text from him on Sunday morning – a very serious one, ordering him to keep away from Terminator 3 and any sequel that came after, on pain of death (from planking too long). 

Since then, Nico has been sending him pictures of some of the most ridiculous shoes he encountered on the streets of Rome, from Spongebob-themed clogs to stilettos so high they looked like candy-colored torture devices. Martino responded with silly memes and pictures of his grandma’s panettone from last Christmas, retrieved from his mom’s phone. 

Right now Martino is waiting for the latest of Nico’s videos to load. By the looks of it, it’s a puppy falling from a gym ball. 

“What are you grinning at?” A sense of déjà vu washes over Martino as he turns to face a curious Elia. 

“Pictures of your mom,” he retorts readily, sliding off the windowsill to his feet. “Let’s go, I don’t want to miss the test because Gio is daydreaming about having babies with Eva.” 

“Oh, fuck off!” Gio feigns offence but his eyes are all soft. Martino shakes his head. _Sottone._  

The phone buzzes in his pocket. 

* * *

Marti’s heart feels light on the way to Pilates class. He managed to do it, he thinks. In less than a week he nipped his lewd impulses in the bud and made a cool friend instead. Not that he doesn’t appreciate his squad (he does, he’d die for them), but he’s known them for a very long time. Sometimes it feels like he knows what each of them is going to say before they open their mouths.

And Nico – Nico is so exciting and unpredictable. Martino wants to know more about him, wants to have him in his life in whatever capacity. Wants to be funny and interesting for his sake. Any other desires that arise he can deal with like a grown-up. 

 _He is probably just glad to connect with someone from the group who won’t develop a stupid crush on him after five minutes of friendly conversation. How ironic that his only option is a closeted gay guy._  

On Sunday, Marti made the momentous decision to block _restless_nico_2000_. It wasn’t irreversible, but at least he wouldn’t be able to see Nico’s gym photos without unblocking the account first. No more stalking. Nico deserves respect, like all of his friends. 

So what if Nico is hot and dorky and his voice sometimes goes so deep Martino can feel it flow over him like a warm wave? 

 _You can do this. After Gio, you can definitely do this._  

* * *

Martino finds Nico surrounded by the girls, their faces serious and focused as he shows them how to use resistance bands properly. His eyebrows shoot up and all but disappear under his curls when he sees Martino enter, his smile somewhat apologetic. Martino smiles in return and waves his hand in a _don’t-get-distracted-for-my-sake_ gesture as he walks to his spot and drops down his mat. 

The soundtrack for today is Sugababes (not that Martino can tell, Nico just announces it proudly before pressing play). Martino thoroughly enjoys the workout – the resistance band adds difficulty to the most mundane exercises and his muscles feel pleasantly buzzed by the end.

Obviously, Nico has invented some ungodly way to use the band while planking, and he winks playfully at Martino as he explains it. Martino huffs and rolls his eyes, but still considers it a point of pride that he’s able to hold it till the end. 

He wants to stay and chat with Nico afterward, but Eva and Silvia just won’t leave the room. Martino feels constrained by their presence, unable to slip back into the easy banter he had with Nico over the phone. _Next time, I guess._ He nods at Nico with a tight-lipped smile and leaves. 

His mood is a bit sour as he peels off his sweaty clothes, grabs the standard issue gym towel and heads for the showers. A couple of guys from the weights section are there, their heavily tattooed, heavily muscled bodies almost too big for the stalls they’re in. Martino squashes down the intimidation that floods his gut every time he’s encountered with such a grotesque display of masculinity. Nothing about this view is appealing to him. If he had to choose, he’d pick a human-sized guy for a boyfriend, thank you very much. 

Martino has just started lathering his hair, eyes squeezed shut to keep the foam out, when there’s the sound of bare feet slapping the tiles, getting closer and closer. Someone turns on the shower in the stall next to his, sighs contentedly as the stream picks up temperature. 

“Good session, no? I always liked using elastic bands. Really helps to build your stamina.” 

 _Oh fuck._  

Martino’s hands still in his hair. Before he can stop himself, his traitor eyes are open and darting to the right. Even distorted by the frosted glass, the outline of Nico’s body – gloriously naked, arching towards the stream – turns Martino’s knees to jelly. He holds onto the wall, hand almost slipping, and wills his tongue to work but it seems to be stuck to his palate. 

“Mhm.” This is the best he can manage, and he hopes Nico will take it as a sign that a shower room is not the best place for chit-chat. _Please don’t make me talk._  

“I’m thinking ankle weights for next time. They don’t have those in this gym so I’ll have to borrow them somewhere. But they’re fun. You’ll see.” 

Martino can barely breathe. The water pelts down on his shoulders harshly, the hiss of it combining with the thumping of blood in his ears. Behind the partition, Nico is never still, turning this way and that under the stream, raising his arms to sluice water over his armpits, bending his long neck to the side, busy hands running up and down his torso. _Blessed Virgin Mary, have mercy on me._  

“Ah, shit. Hey, Marti, can I borrow some of your shampoo? I left mine in the locker.” 

Without a conscious thought, Martino grabs the bottle and places it in Nico’s hand, outstretched around the partition. He’s careful not to let their fingers touch. 

“Sandalwood? How fancy of you, Marti. Ohhh it smells amazing.” There’s a loud squelch like Nico emptied about half the bottle on his head. 

Martino’s eyes are fixated on the floor where he can see Nico’s bare feet shuffle slightly by the shower drain. The shampoo suds reach his ankles, sliding lazily down, all the way to his heels and onto the tiles. Martino can’t bear it anymore. 

“Gotta go, see ya.” He spits the words out, shuts off the water, and quickly grabs the towel off the rack behind him, wrapping it around his hips in jerky motions. 

“Wait, what about your–“ Nico tries helplessly. His wet hair is plastered all over his face, blinding him. 

For an endless second, Martino is rooted to the spot, taking all of Nico in. Then he flees. 

It’s only in the locker room that he realizes he still has shampoo in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the author insists that you have a look at the shower here https://images.wisegeek.com/public-shower-stalls-with-gray-wall.jpg
> 
> *tra il dire e il fare c'è di mezzo il mare. - it's easier said than done.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading this far and let me know what you think.


	7. What you want

Stepping back under the stream feels like relief, Martino’s chilled skin instantly warming up again. He takes his time, running his fingers carefully through the wet strands, rinsing the last of the shampoo out. Completely soaked and slicked back, his hair loses the curl and gets so dark you can hardly tell it’s actually red. Only the freckles always give him away.

He’s not scared or surprised to feel someone join him in the stall. Two familiar hands come to rest on his waist, thumbs caressing the skin on his sides. Martino smiles to himself. _There you are._

“Is this ok, Marti?” The water is so hot, and still this voice makes him shiver.

“Closer.”

A step. They’re both under water now, hidden, protected. It’s still not enough.

“Closer, Ni.” He doesn’t know why he says Nico’s name like that, but it sits right on his tongue. _Nobody else is allowed to call you that. Ever._

In response, a smooth wide chest presses into Martino from behind. The hands on his waist tug him back, guiding him to lean fully into the embrace. Letting Martino feel Nico’s desire against his body. Nico rolls his hips, once, then again, like he can’t help himself.

Martino never felt so wanted in his life.

Face tilted up, he rests the back of his head on Nico’s strong shoulder. Martino’s arms have been hanging uselessly by his sides, and now he reaches back blindly to grab Nico’s firm butt and force him closer still. Martino smiles at the gasp that earns him.

“Marti…tell me what you want.”

Nico’s hands roam over his body, unashamed, fingertips digging into soft flesh, catching on his nipples, dipping into his belly button. Nico breathes faster and Martino rises and falls with the movements of his chest.

“You.” He says it so quietly, it shouldn’t be audible over the water beating down on the tiles. But Nico hears him.  

One of his hands comes up to settle on the exposed column of Martino’s throat, its thumb running over the sensitive skin there. When Martino swallows, his Adam’s apple grazes Nico’s palm like a caress.

The other hand slides quickly down Martino’s stomach, following the narrow trail of hair straight to his dick. Martino is so hard, the first touch makes him keen and clutch Nico’s forearm in warning.

Nico shushes him gently, nuzzling his cheek. After a moment, Martino calms down and nods, relaxing his grip a bit. Nico starts jerking him off slow, observing Martino’s reactions, and picks up pace little by little when he meets no resistance.

Martino tries to stay quiet, but it’s impossible when he’s so close already. By some miracle, Nico knows exactly how Marti likes to be touched, his fingers clever and confident on his dick, his hand never tiring.

Just as Martino thinks it can’t get any better, Nico whispers hotly in his ear _God, Marti, you’re so gorgeous, do you have any idea what you do to me, I want you so bad, want to make you all mine..._ It drives Martino crazy. He can’t hold on any longer.

“Ni…I’m…” His back arches and he pants through the steam surrounding them, struggling to get the words out.

Nico turns his head and licks a long stripe from the base of Martino’s neck up to his ear. Then another one over his cheek to his eye, making Martino wince. And another one from his chin to his nose. Nico’s tongue is smooth and hot but his nose is so cold… Martino recoils, trying to escape the relentless licking, swatting Nico away.

His palm meets a hairy muzzle, and he opens his eyes with a whole-body shudder.

Dark glossy eyes stare curiously at him, two droopy ears half-cocked above them. A beat passes, then he’s being licked again.

“Argh!” Martino shoves the dog off the bed, head spinning with the mix of disgust and residue arousal. The beast pounces right back, excited to have found a playmate, and starts tugging the duvet off, which makes Martino instantly aware of the unfortunate situation in his pants that he’d rather keep private.

He grabs the edge of the escaping duvet and holds on for dear life. “Fuck off! Fuck off you big dumb–”

“Sweetheart, are you awake? Is Silvio bothering you?” His mother’s voice sounds closer and closer and the damned dog has already dragged the duvet halfway off. Martino has no choice.

He tumbles to the floor and yanks the sweaty sheets into his lap for cover just as Giulia Rametta appears in the doorframe, radiating cheer.

“Good morning, my favorite child!”

“I am your only child,” Martino grunts, not taking his eyes off the dog or letting go of the cover.

“So? Breakfast is served, hurry up. Silvio already had his.”

“Take him away, I beg you. What is he doing here anyway?” His stomach sinks and he looks up to catch his mother’s eye. “Is grandma alright?”

Giulia’s face softens. “Grandma’s fine, she just asked me to take Silvio to the good vet this week. She doesn’t trust the one in Cecina.”

_Of course. Only the best for the dog named after Silvio Berlusconi._ Martino’s grandma has the weirdest sense of humor, and the opinion in the family is that Martino inherited it.

He watches anxiously as his mother detaches Silvio from the duvet and nudges him out of the room with some effort. A couple more steps and he’ll be on his own at last, dealing with…whatever that was earlier.

“You want me to close the door?”

“Yes!” _Please, go away already._

“But the breakfast…”

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes, I swear, just PLEASE—“

“Alright, no shouting.” She pauses with her hand on the door handle. Martino is instantly alarmed by the sly expression on her face.

“Martino.” Her eyes narrow and flick to the balled up sheets he’s still clutching in his lap. “Is this what I think it is?”

“MOM!” Blood rushes to his face in a mortifying wave, but she just shuts the door on him, laughing merrily all the way to the kitchen.

“You can’t lie to your mother, Martino! Ten minutes, or Silvio gets your breakfast!”

Martino stretches out on the floor with a sigh, rubbing his eyes as if to push away the images from the dream. _Fuck, it felt so real._ It doesn’t help that Martino knows for a fact what Nico’s hands on his body feel like, what his voice sounds like in Martino’s ear, has seen the routes that water droplets take racing down his spine. There is just too much material available for his wayward imagination.

As if in a trance, Martino lifts his hand slowly and lays it on his throat. His pulse throbs against the grounding weight of it, still coming down from the high. His eyes slide shut.

_Tell me what you want._

* * *

One of the best things about his mother, Martino thinks, is that she doesn’t push unless the situation calls for it. When he shows up for breakfast exactly 10 minutes later, there is no prying, no knowing smirks, and no teasing.

They talk about their plans for the rest of the week over coffee and sandwiches (her: taking the dog back to Cecina on Friday, him: nothing much apart from homework), she ruffles his bedhead, puts Silvio on a leash, and promptly leaves the house.

The front door clicks shut behind them and Martino is alone with his thoughts again.

Taking a shower seems like the worst kind of irony right now, but an experimental armpit sniff persuades him there’s no way around it. The plan is to do a quick rinse, throw some clothes on, and run like mad to catch the bus to school.

What Martino ends up doing is staring into the void for twenty minutes, the old untrustworthy pipes turning the water hotter or colder at random without him noticing.

He’s promised himself it won’t happen again. He won’t ruin another friendship over a pointless crush on a straight guy. Above all, he won’t go back to being a scheming, two-faced asshole.

_You’re better than this. And Nico deserves a better friend than this._

What is wrong with him? Why is his heart latching onto every guy with an easy smile who shows him the smallest bit of kindness? Ok, not Elia and Luchino maybe, but that’s different.

_Gio is different, too. You never dreamed of Gio’s hands on your dick._

It is true. His feelings for Gio were overpowering sometimes, and he wanted Gio’s undivided attention so much that he almost succeeded in breaking him and Eva up. Martino hated seeing them together, kissing and touching and cooing over each other. He wanted Eva out of the picture, but it never occurred to him to put himself in Eva’s place, even in his fantasies.

Nico, though… Martino breathes in deep, leaning his forehead against the tiles and slumping his shoulders in defeat. Nico, grinning goofily at him from across the pilates room. Nico’s animated voice, prattling on and on about Martino’s shoelaces over the phone speaker. Nico, holding him tight, grazing his teeth over Martino’s neck.

_What’s the point of lying to yourself if you’re not strong enough to stick to the lie?_

Martino wants all of Nico, and he needs Nico to want all of him. _As impossible as it is._

* * *

He shows up in time for the second period, nodding at the boys and sticking his face into the textbook right after. Rows of formulas dance in front of his eyes, the explanations under them making less sense with every rereading. He didn’t get any homework done yesterday night.

During the break, Elia plays _spacca nocche_ against Luca, betting on coffees from the  macchinetta. They make an awful lot of noise, but somehow Martino is still able to space out, staring out of the window.

His phone vibrates with a new message. Seeing Nico’s name in the notification makes Martino’s heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. _Calm down, stupid, he has no idea about your wet dreams._ Still, he opens their chat with trepidation, as if expecting Nico to scold him.

_Nico (pilates): hi Marti, you forgot this yesterday_

Attached is a photo of his shampoo bottle, cradled in Nico’s hand. Judging by the background, it has been taken in the locker room. Martino swallows, fighting a tide of recent memories, when another message pops up.

_Nico (pilates): I can bring it over if you need it?_

Oh god. The image of Nico appearing on his doorstep, grinning ear to ear with that goddamn shampoo in hand, is almost too much. He’d have to invite him in, get him a coffee as a thank you. No way. _Yes._ Absolutely not. _YES._

Nico starts typing again and Martino feels helpless, pinned to his seat like a butterfly on display, staring at the empty text bubble and waiting for the next blow.

_Nico (pilates): Or I’ll just bring it to the gym tomorrow. You choose:)_

“Marti! Tell him what you want!”

Martino’s head whips up from his phone to stare at Gio. “Huh?”

“Luchino lost three times in a row, he owes coffees to all of us. What do you want?”

“Uh...nothing for me, thanks.”

“Come onnnn, bro, you’re missing the point!” Elia throws up his arms like he’s in a Greek tragedy. Luchino shrugs and runs off to get two orders instead of three while Gio gives Martino a puzzled look.

“You ok, Marti?”

“Why wouldn’t I be ok.” _God, now he surely knows something’s up._

Gio frowns at his tone and perches on the desk in front of Martino. ”All I know is that you were all chirpy yesterday and now you’re the direct opposite of that. Clearly there’s something on your mind. Maybe I can help?”

Sweet, self-sacrificing Gio. _So, there’s this guy that I see every time I close my eyes now and he has no idea how I feel about him. I don’t know if I can stay away and I’m afraid this will hurt me very badly._

_There’s fuck all you can do about any of that._

“I just didn’t sleep well, bro. The stupid dog kept me up all night.”

* * *

Martino spends the rest of his classes constructing a proper reply to Nico.

In the end, he doesn’t send any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I never wrote anything porny before and it probably shows.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far and let me know what you think.


	8. Elbows and ankles

The bus jumps on a pothole and Martino sways sharply, one hand tightening on the handrail just in time to keep him from falling over. He does accidentally step on an elderly man’s foot and apologizes profusely, only to have him stare back in silent, unblinking fury until a bunch of people get off and Martino can escape to the window seat at the back.

The whole thing is ridiculous, but it gets under his skin and unsettles him even more than he already was. _Focus. Only two stops left._  

Only two stops before he will get off the bus, cross the street, and find himself in front of the gym. Only two stops before he will see Nico again. Nico, who is most likely confused and irritated after Martino walked out on him and ignored his messages. 

 _This is not normal, this is not how friends are supposed to behave. What are you going to say, Martino? Will you be able to look him in the eye?_  

Surely, he can’t tell the truth. That he couldn’t concentrate in class all day. That he reread all of their messages in the last three days and cringed at his own blatant flirting. That he stayed up very late, exhausting himself with trashy TV. That it didn’t help at all and he was waking up throughout the night with Nico’s phantom touch on his skin. That in the dark his weakness took over, his mind chasing those fake memories and replaying them until their sweetness faded away. 

No, Martino can’t say any of that. But he can’t make himself lie to Nico either. 

He steps off the bus without a decision. The walk from the bus stop to the gym is way too short, no matter how he drags his feet. He stops at the entrance. 

His watch tells him he’s seven minutes late already. Martino has never been late to Pilates before – Nico praised him for that, too. 

Maybe this is a sign. He could turn on his heel right now, catch another bus, be home in half an hour. Fuck Elia and his checkups with Eva. Fuck Eva too, for cooperating. He doesn’t owe them shit. 

This could be simple. _Just message Nico that you don’t feel well. Technically, you wouldn’t even be lying._ If he did that several times in a row then maybe.. maybe Nico would get the hint and find someone else to watch old movies with over the phone. 

Martino’s jaw clenches at the thought. 

He checks his watch again. _Ten minutes late. Oh well._  

Martino makes a couple of hesitant steps away from the building, head bowed and staring down at his sneakers. The next moment he turns around and sprints to the entrance. 

* * *

The Pilates class is in full swing when Martino sneaks into the room (13 minutes late), the music upbeat and decidedly more modern than usual. All spots in the front taken, he has to make his way between the stretching girls and set up camp in the corner. 

For a few seconds Martino can’t find Nico, but then he catches sight of him two rows away, occupied with adjusting Silvia’s posture. Nico looks serious, lips in a thin line and eyebrows knitted, like the task at hand is barely distracting him from some deep-seated worry. He nods at Silvia gravely and heads for his commanding post by the boombox. 

“Oh, hi Martino!” Silvia’s voice rings over the music. _This girl has eyes on her back, I swear._  

Frozen mid-step, Nico turns sharply back to Silvia, eyes following her line of sight to a quietly panicking Martino. Their eyes meet.

The corners of Nico’s mouth twitch and go up, up, up, the furrow between his brows smoothing out, every line of his face rearranging into a look of surprised delight. It’s like watching a time-lapse of a sunrise. Martino misses the moment his own face splits into the stupidest smile, and then it’s too late to hide it. 

Nico is still happy to see him.

They mouth _hi_ at each other, grinning. Nico’s eyes sweep over Marti, like he can’t quite believe he’s really here. Martino’s palms start to sweat under such scrutiny. Luckily, the track changes and Nico’s attention is snapped back to the group. He claps his hands loudly, making Silvia jump.

“Alright, everyone, let’s move on to squats!” 

* * *

About halfway into the session, the same authoritative clap announces a 5-minute break for water and “gearing up”. Nico drags a mysterious box out of the corner and tells everyone to come and grab a pair of ankle weights. 

Martino comes up to the box last, wondering what color of the rainbow his pair is going to be. 

“I’ve got something special for you,” Nico smirks and sits down Indian-style, inviting Martino to join him with a pat on the floor. Martino obeys while Nico rummages through his duffel bag. 

“There you go! A heavier set for the gentleman of the group.” Nico’s head bobs joyfully, like he’s offering Martino a pair of kittens instead of plain black ankle weights. “Try them on.” 

Martino is wrapping one of the strips around his leg when he feels warm, timid fingers wrap around his left arm, sending electric sparks across his entire body. He turns to see Nico inspecting his elbow with a frown. 

“This looks painful. What happened?” 

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for Martino to catch on. _Right_. _The bruise._  

“It’s nothing, I uhhh fell off the bed. By accident.” 

“Bad dreams?” Nico finally tears his eyes from the bruise to look up at Martino with concern. His thumb sweeps over the purple mark.

 _Is this happening. Am I imagining this._  

“Not....really?” Right now, he couldn’t lie if he wanted to. Nico is so close – _Nico’s face is so close –_ Martino’s stomach feels like it did when he was eight years old, going too high on the swings at the park. 

He glances down for something to do, to keep his composure, and stretches his arm slightly as if to peek at the offending elbow. Nico must take it for discomfort, because he snatches his hand back at once. Martino’s skin tingles where his fingertips have just been. Nico clears his throat. 

“Look, Marti, about Monday…I’m sorry.” He sounds uncomfortable, sheepish. Martino doesn’t like that. 

“You’re sorry? About what?” 

Nico’s eyes scan his face for some confirmation that Martino is being ironic, but there’s nothing but genuine confusion there. What can Nico possibly be sorry for? 

“I shouldn’t have…” Nico shakes his head, then starts again. “I used up all your shampoo.” 

Martino has never heard a lie delivered so poorly before. “That’s fine.” 

“I’ll get you a new one, okay?”   

“Okay.” 

“Okay!” Nico perks up, let off the hook. The smile takes over his face again and he springs to his feet, urging the group to get ready for act two. 

Martino watches him bustle about, checking the straps on everyone’s ankles, changing the music, tying his bandana tighter around his forehead, and it strikes him how much he missed just being around Nico.

It’s pathetic, he knows, they haven’t seen each other for a day and a half at the most , but it felt much longer. The idea of skipping Pilates today, and every time after that, seems preposterous. He would never go through with it.

He has no idea what he’s doing here anymore, but it’s the only place he wants to be. 

* * *

If you asked Martino about the top-3 epiphanies he ever had, he would reply with a shrug. He doesn’t remember the exact moment he realized that Babbo Natale was not real, or that his TV set wasn’t filled with tiny people speaking and singing, or that he wasn't really into girls. Maybe all of those things came to him gradually.

But right now, this very second, he thinks he might be having the first full-blown epiphany of his life. 

It starts very simple, with Nico putting on a funky tune and telling them all to do 30 pushups and 50 crunches as the last challenge for today. Just one minute in, the enthusiasm of the group is rapidly dwindling, but Martino’s mind is set on completing his task. 

He’s done with the pushups before everyone else, sitting up on his heels to catch his breath. His eyes pan over dozens of girls, huffing into the floor as they’re trying to lift themselves, and suddenly lock with Nico’s in the mirror. 

Martino wouldn’t be able to explain what’s so special about this one look. Maybe it’s the illusion of the two of them being alone in the room, or maybe it’s every smile and every word they exchanged today, surging to the surface with a new power. 

It feels like this is the first time they are completely honest with each other, layers of double meanings falling away with a _whoosh_. 

Time grinds to a halt. All he can see is Nico’s face, open and hopeful and longing. All he can hear is the silly song.  

 _Come to me, baby_  
_Don’t be shy_  
_Don’t be shy  
__Don’t be shy_  

The tip of Nico’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Martino takes a shaky breath. 

_It’s not just me, is it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emOKaGi8u5U so give it a listen
> 
> This one is honestly pretty raw but I didn’t want to leave you guys with nothing before I take a two-week break.  
> No fear, some good chapters are ahead.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far and let me know what you think.


	9. Sweet unrest

Martino waits at the school gate, digging the nose of his shoe into the cracked pavement and chewing his lip. He ditched the last class of the day to avoid a test that he didn’t prepare for, and now he needs to know how it went. But that’s not the only reason why he’s here.

The clarity that yesterday’s revelation brought didn’t last long. One moment it felt like he was looking straight into Nico’s soul and in the next they were back in the room full of people, eye contact broken, reality rushing in like cold water. The whiplash was so strong that he just walked out of the room with Nico’s ankle weights on. _Another achievement on your dumbass resume._

He stayed in the showers way longer than necessary, half-expecting Nico to turn up and half-dreading seeing him again after what just happened. Nico didn’t turn up, though, not even to get his property back. A peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment stayed with Martino the whole ride home.

God knows he tried to do some homework last night — seated on the floor of his room, surrounded by textbooks, door decisively locked to keep Silvio away. But his mind kept doubling back to Nico, retracing their conversations, searching for deeper meaning in every touch.

_It’s all in your head. He’s the same with the girls._

Thoughts like these would be immediately countered with the mental screenshot of Nico as he saw him in the mirror: kneeling on the mat, a bit breathless, one stray curl plastered to his temple with sweat.

His eyes so warm and unguarded.

And his _mouth_.

“Ground control to Rametta! You there, bro?”

Martino startles, as he seems to do more and more these days. Gio is in front of him, alone, thumbing the strap of his backpack. Just the sight of him helps Martino’s anxiety wind down a bit.

“Oh, hi. How did the test go?”

They start walking slowly down the street with no real direction or purpose. Martino savors the feeling of peace for long minutes, letting Gio fill in the silences between his responses, using the time to pluck up his courage.

They have almost reached the Tiber when he’s finally ready to say _the thing_.

“Listen, Gio… I wanted to ask for your advice. On a private matter.”

Giovanni immediately abandons his rant about Boccia and turns to look at the side of Marti’s face.

“Of course. Go on.”

This is it. His chance to unburden himself to the only person in the whole world who is capable of sorting out his messy feelings. But Martino still has his doubts. So he goes about it with extra caution.

“I think I like someone.” He peeks at Gio.

“Ok, bro, I’m glad to hear it.” A pause. “Does this…someone…like you back?”

How Gio manages to always ask the right questions, Martino doesn’t know, but he wants to hug him right now.

“Could be. I’m not sure. It’s complicated.”

_More complicated than I can admit to you right now._

Gio bites the inside of his cheek, pondering. “Well, why do you think they _might_ like you? Did you notice any signs? Is there a pull?”

“A pull?” Martino has to huff out a laugh. Gio sounds like a dating expert off daytime TV. 

“Yeah, bro. When you’re pulled in by another person, it’s like gravity. You want to learn more about them, find out what makes them smile, you try to find a reason to touch them. Did you notice any of that?”

Giovanni’s words reassure and terrify Martino in equal measure. Maybe he did notice some of that. “I suppose. We met several times and we texted quite a lot over the weekend…”

“So far so good…”

“And we saw each other naked once.”

Gio splutters and stops walking. “What.”

“It was kind of….by accident. But now that I think about it, I’m not so sure.” The thought of Nico deliberately undressing to get Martino’s attention gives him goosebumps. He’s not going to dwell on that now.

“Also...they’re always noticing me. All kinds of little things about me that nobody else cares about. You know?” Too much is slipping out now. He’s been aching to talk about Nico, he realizes.

“The last time we met, I think we had a moment.”

Giovanni is intrigued. “Like what? A touch?”

“No, we looked at each other and I _felt_ something, like... an understanding.” He sounds stupid but there’s really no better way to explain. Gio seems to get it, anyway.

A thoughtful hum. “From what you told me, I’d say you have a chance here, Marti.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The signs are good. Give it a shot, if you want to.”

 _If I want to._ Until this moment, Martino hasn’t really pictured himself approaching Nico with the intention to – what? Flirt with him? Ask him out? He has no idea how to do any of those things.

“What, why are you wincing? You don’t think it's worth the trouble?”

“I just don’t want to fuck it up I guess? Maybe I read it all wrong.”

Gio’s eyebrows arch in the way they do when Martino is being dense. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

 _I could get my nose broken?_ No, it’s hard to believe that Nico would do a thing like that. Almost as hard as to believe he’d be interested in someone like Martino.

Once again, Gio proves to be a mind-reader. “Marti, you’re a catch, trust me. Everybody says so.”

“Yeah, you and my mom.”

This makes Giovanni laugh heartily, clapping Martino on the back. “Don’t forget your grandma.”

“Fuck off.” Martino is laughing too, his mood much lighter than before. A terrible hope starts to grow in his chest.

“Is that someone from your Pilates thing?” After a quick glance at Gio Martino decides it’s safe to admit this much. He nods, getting an impressed whistle in return.

“Fuck me, Elia is going to hate this!”

“Please don’t tell anyone. I’m serious.”

Gio pretends to zip up his mouth and throw the key into the Tiber. Obviously, he continues talking right after that. “If you want to be _absolutely sure_ that person is into you before making your move, there’s one thing you could do. I tried it on Eva with great results.”

Martino’s skeptical look doesn’t deter Giovanni. “Come on, let’s grab a bus to my place and I’ll show you.”

* * *

It must be past 12, because Martino can’t hear anything from the restaurant on the ground floor of their building. The only sounds in the room are his own breathing and the creaking of his bedframe as he wiggles into a more comfortable position.  

He thought that another night of inappropriate dreams about Nico would be the worst scenario, but now his brain won’t let him sleep at all.

It’s been two hours since he sent the message.

_Sorry for abducting these. I had to leave early and forgot I had them on._

The attached picture of the ankle weights on the floor of his room somehow took him five tries to get right.

But Nico hasn’t responded. Maybe he is busy, maybe he is asleep, or maybe he doesn't care.

Martino sighs and turns to his side. The room is dark but his eyes have adjusted enough to see the outline of his backpack, saggy and unassuming, Giovanni’s secret weapon hidden in its depths. Would he even dare to use it on Nico?

His phone hums before flooding the room with eerie blue light. Martino fumbles to get it, squints against the brightness of the screen.

_Nico (pilates): And I still got your shampoo. Hostage exchange tomorrow?_

Martino presses his lips together to keep the smile from spreading and quickly taps out his reply.

_Ok see you then! Goodnight_

_Nico (pilates): Goodnight Marti_

Nico doesn’t text him again after that, but Martino is not bothered. They made a deal.

He flops to his belly, hugging the pillow tight, and falls asleep in minutes.

* * *

The giggles and whispers follow him all the way from the door to his usual spot in the second row. Martino tries to pay them no mind, but it’s really difficult to stay unfazed when he accidentally meets Eva’s eyes, widened in surprise. The smirk that starts spreading over her lips right after makes his heart sink.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

_ <15 hours earlier > _

“Believe me, Marti, this is the bomb. Nobody will be able to resist you in my Lucky Tank Top of Seduction. 100% effectiveness, Garau guarantee.”

Martino eyes himself in Giovanni’s (woefully small) mirror. The so-called tank top of seduction is just a wisp of light blue cotton, loose and soft and draping over his body in a way that shows off three times more skin than he’s used to.

“Gio, it’s almost see-through. I feel naked.”

“This is the point! You show off your muscles, you get noticed, and then it’s a matter of natural charm, which you have aplenty. Just try to look cool and collected.”

Martino isn’t sure he has much to show off, but Giovanni’s confidence is infectious.

“Where did you get this? Magic Mike XXL convention?”

“Ha, ha, ha. How about some gratitude? I kept this tucked away ever since that time I wore it to P.E. and Eva agreed to go out with me. Luchino would kill for a chance to wear this.”

Martino rolls his eyes, but the tank top ends up in his bag with Giovanni’s blessing upon it.

“Martino Rametta, I’m entrusting this to you because I love you and I want to help you find happiness. Go get them, bro.”

_ <Now> _

Martino risks a glance in the mirror and feels an immediate desire to flee. What was he thinking, letting Gio talk him into this?

He looks like an idiot, and a shameless idiot at that. Pale noodle arms littered with freckles all the way to his shoulders, barely there chest hair, and if that isn’t enough, the wide opening under his arm reveals another bruise that he apparently got falling off the bed.

_I can’t let him see me like this. Abort mission._

Martino turns and takes a step toward the door – he had the foresight to bring a spare T-shirt with him – but it’s too late. Nico is already walking to the front of the group, boombox in hand, a serene smile on his face.

The smile falters when his eyes fall on Marti.

Standing there under Nico’s bewildered gaze, Martino feels more exposed than he was in the showers on Monday (light years ago). His face is hot and his throat is suddenly dry, but he finds the courage to square his shoulders and tilt his chin up in a greeting.

_Cool and collected._

Nico mirrors the movement and quickly turns away. He looks a bit lost for a moment before remembering to turn the music on.

“Uh…quick warm-up, guys, you know the drill.”

It’s their sixth Pilates class with Nico, so they do, in fact, know the motions by heart. Martino is grateful for his muscle memory taking over, because he definitely wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything right now. Not with the way Nico keeps stealing glances at him, seemingly unable to stop his head from turning in Martino’s direction.

He can’t believe it’s actually working. Giovanni is a genius.

Martino lets Nico get away with it for several minutes before he dares to catch him staring. Nico looks away almost immediately. Soon enough, though, his eyes stray right back and Martino holds his gaze for longer.

 _Sorry for being so slow_ he wants to say, and _I’m catching up now_ and _I’m here if you still want me_. He can only hope that it’s written on his face.

This time, when Nico turns to the rest of the group to demonstrate a new stretch, he’s biting his lip to hide a smile of his own.

It’s going to be a long Pilates session.

* * *

Eva comes up to him almost as soon as the music cuts off, her step way too bouncy for someone who was just faking death after a series of boat crunches.

“Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.” Over her shoulder, Martino watches Nico gather his things and throw a quick look at Eva. He purses his lips and gets up to leave.

Eva’s voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “I think I saw it somewhere before. _”_

Martino shrugs, feeling the tank top stick to his chest and back with quickly cooling sweat.

Eva is about to add something when they’re interrupted by another girl – one of the staunch first-row Pilates enthusiasts that Martino hasn’t yet learned to tell apart.

“Hi, Martino, how are you?” She continues without giving him a chance to reply. “I have a tiny favor to ask, actually. You seem to be friends with Nico, could you maybe get his number for me? It’s kind of important and I’m a bit shy so I can’t ask him myself.”

Martino just gapes at her.

Eva’s eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”  

The girl replies but Martino misses it, eyes scanning the room once again. Nico seems to have evaporated, complete with his boombox and duffel bag.

“Stalkerish behavior is never okay, and if you think you can just…” Eva’s cheeks go pink with indignation as the other girl rolls her eyes at her. Martino sees an opportunity and takes it.

“Sorry, girls, gotta run, bye.” He’s out the door in several quick strides, happy to be rid of them both.

* * *

Nico’s not in the locker room, and he’s not in the showers. He wouldn’t leave without talking to Martino, would he? They agreed to exchange hostages, after all.

Martino walks out of the building with his head down, typing out a message.

_Hey where did y –_

“Going home by bus, Marti?”

Martino looks up and forgets how to string words together for a second.

Nico’s leaning against the wall of the gym, a half-finished cigarette in the corner of his smiling mouth. The headband is gone, leaving his curls to fall over his forehead in an artful mess. Martino wants to touch them.

Right, he needs to answer the question. “Yeah, same as usual.”

Nico’s smile widens. He flicks the ash off the cigarette and cocks his head to the side.

“I could give you a lift, if you want?”

Martino pretends to consider the offer, pretends to be cool and collected. “Ok, thanks.”

Some of the tension seems to leave Nico’s body as he pushes himself from the wall and picks up his bag. “This way.”

Martino follows him to the parking lot, using the time of the short walk to study the way Nico moves in the outside world. The way his body fills out the simple black T-shirt and jeans. He’s never seen Nico in anything but gym clothes before.

_Black looks great on you. Fuck, anything would look great on you._

Martino is distracted from his thoughts when Nico stops at the last car in the row and starts rummaging in his bag for the keys. “That’s your car?”

“It’s my dad’s, actually. Ford Cortina Lotus.” There’s unmistakable pride in his voice. “You like it?”

Martino nods, then shrugs. “I don’t know the first thing about cars. It looks nice.”

_Nice and old as balls._

For a moment he worries that Nico will be insulted, but the other boy just laughs, shaking his head. “Get in, then.”

Martino tosses his stuff to the back and sinks into the soft seat. Nico grins at him, turns the key in the ignition.

“You mind if I put on some music?”

Martino doesn’t mind in the slightest.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title song by Apparat
> 
> Two weeks offline turned into three for which I am massively sorry. I've been researching locations in Italy so this might come in handy later.
> 
> Thank you for reading this far and let me know what you think.


	10. Beach

It happens when they stop at the second red light, the car purring along to Anni 90 FM that immediately started playing when Nico turned on the car radio. (“You don’t have a player for CDs or something?” “It’s an ancient rally car, Marti. It doesn’t even play tapes.”)

First, Martino remembers that he never told Nico his address and has no idea where Nico’s taking him. Then, as if on cue, Nico speaks up.

“Are you very tired after today?”

“No, why?”

Nico clears his throat, business-like. “We could take a detour. If you don’t have other plans for the evening, of course.”

When Martino raises his eyes, Nico seems preoccupied by something in the rearview mirror. His hands are a bit too tight on the steering wheel.

A tendril of warmth unravels in Marti’s stomach. “No, I don’t have any plans.”

“Okay.” Nico finally looks over at Martino, a soft smile on his lips. “Hope you like the beach.” He wiggles his head mischievously, but there’s a question in his voice.

 _It’s almost November,_ Martino thinks. “I love the beach,” he says. He hasn’t been on one for weeks.

Nico nods, reassured, and returns his attention to the road. The traffic light changes to green and they drive off.

_I’m going on a date._

As sneakily as possible, Martino tugs up the sleeve of his hoodie and pinches his forearm. Everything stays in place.

_Holy shit._

He’s going on a date with Nico Fares.

* * *

“You don’t have to adore it, just admit that it’s the defining animation feature of the decade and we can move on.”

“I’m sorry, but if you expect me to pick Beauty and the Beast over Lion King, we’re not moving anywhere.”

Martino crosses his arms over his chest and sucks in his lips to emphasize the point, making Nico burst out laughing. It’s a deep, throaty sound that dances in the air between them like a living thing.

Still chuckling, Nico reaches up to pull the visor down against the sun.

“Ah, at least we agree on Hercules. You’re not _completely_ hopeless.” The remark is accompanied by a look of such fondness that Martino’s protests melt somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

This keeps happening, by the way – his brain short-circuiting at the most inopportune times. They must be halfway to Ostia by now, and with every minute alone with Nico, Martino’s self-control slips more and more.

There’s just so much of Nico, and so close, that Martino doesn’t know what to react to first. Nico’s toned arms, relaxed but confident in front of him as he’s driving. Nico’s muscular chest in his too-tight shirt, shaking with laughter. Nico’s face, divided sharply in two: cheeks and lips gilded by the lowering sun, the rest obscured by the shadow of the vizor.

Martino knows he’s staring. Nico must notice it, too. There are lulls in conversation when some 90’s disco hit fills the silence and Nico throws him one of those looks, like he has _plans_ for Martino…

Martino swallows, turns to the window to look at the smudged silhouettes of the trees they’re passing. He has to remind himself not to be nervous. They’re in this, together, because they want to be. And there’s nothing wrong in wanting to be close to Nico, to _know_ him.

Everything is just so new.

“Can I roll down the window?”

“Sure, go on. Ah, don’t be shy, Marti, put some force into it.”

With a grunt, Martino finally manages to turn the ancient crank handle. Fresh salty air hits him in the face and cools his skin until he feels more put together. He sticks one hand out and moves his fingers through the stream, dense and resistant like water. Nico’s going fast.

“By the way, you can pick up your present now. In the glove compartment.”

Nico’s eyes are on the road, but the smug little smirk gives away just how much he’s enjoying this. Intrigued, Martino scoots forward and fiddles with the lock of the glove box. The lid drops open and he pulls out a heavy, expensive-looking bottle of shampoo.

“Uh….Radiant Red Curl Sculptor for Natural and Colored Hair?”

“Ta-daaa. Sorry, couldn’t find your brand anywhere. Hope this is good enough.”

Technically, it’s not a present. This is Nico replacing something he borrowed from Marti. But he obviously put some thought and effort into it, and this knowledge makes Martino’s heart clench sweetly.

“Thank you, Nico, it’s amazing.”  _Well, this came out sappy._ The voice of reason in his head sounds suspiciously like Gio.

Nico’s _you’re welcome_ is soft and confused, like he expected a witty comeback from Marti and doesn’t quite know how to proceed. It only lasts a moment, though.

“Oh! Oh, you’re gonna love this!”

“Wh- “

“Ricky Martin for Marti!” Nico’s hand shoots to the radio to crank up the volume.

_She's into superstitions_

_Black cats and voodoo dolls_

_I feel a premonition_

_That girl's gonna make me fall_

Nico is headbanging out of sync, eyebrows wiggling and the tip of his tongue peeking impishly between his teeth. He’s so adorable Martino’s hands itch to grab his face and-

And then Nico starts singing.

“She'll make you take your clothes off and go daaaaaancing in the rain! Come on, Marti, I know you know the words!”

Marti does know the words. This is his mother’s clean-the-kitchen song, the one that chased away his precious sleep on many a Sunday morning.

“…take away your pain! Like a bullet to your brain! Come on!”

 _Are we seriously doing this._ Then again, who is Martino to resist?

“Upside inside out! She’s livin’ la vida loca!” First timidly, then louder and louder, he joins his voice to Nico’s, brandishing the shampoo bottle like a microphone. “She’ll push and pull you down! Livin’ la vida loca!”

It’s the silliest thing he’s done in ages. It’s fantastic. They yell themselves hoarse, laughing like a pair of maniacs, Martino jamming on the air guitar and the shampoo almost flying out the window at some point. He’s not sure how he stays in his seat, because his chest feels like a hot air balloon ready for takeoff.

They arrive in Lido di Ostia with the last notes of the chorus.

* * *

After the Ricky Martin euphoria, a beach walk seems almost too peaceful, as if they have entered a different space and time altogether. Long shadows on the sand, lazy waves, a flock of pink-bellied clouds almost static above the horizon.

“Favorite food?”

“Cacio e pepe.”

“Favorite color?”

“Mmm…blue.”

“Favorite season?”

“Winter.”

“Winter? Why?!”

“Because I have less of these stupid freckles then.”

“Pity. I think your freckles are lovely.”

Martino huffs and kicks a piece of driftwood, trying to will away the blush that’s spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears quick as wildfire.

_I walked right into that one._

Blushing is not the only problem. His body seems to have developed a mind of its own. For example: his feet keep carrying him just that tiny bit closer to Nico with every other step along the shore. Maybe he should have taken Giovanni’s words more literally, maybe there _is_ a kind of gravity between them.

“Anyway, it’s my turn to ask questions.” Three questions, then they switch. That was their agreement.

Nico raises his hands, palms out in mini-surrender. “Anything you want to know.”

Martino chews on his lip. He wants to know everything, it’s so hard to pick. “Favorite kind of gelato?”

“Raspberry sorbet.”

“Favorite place in the world?”

Nico squints at something on the horizon, then points straight ahead.

“Your favorite place in the world is _over there_?”

“Try to sound a bit more excited,” Nico laughs, swatting Martino’s shoulder. “We would reach it sooner if _someone_ stopped dragging his feet.”

A huffy rebuttal is already forming on Martino’s lips when the sun suddenly peeks out from under a cloud. The light pours lovingly over Nico’s face, turns the green of his irises luminous and strange, throws soft curl-shaped shadows on his forehead.

There’s a sway of longing in Martino’s chest, like a wave cresting before its breaking point. He has to look at his feet to catch himself.

Not even Peccio’s beer could have prepared Martino for being so drunk on another person.

“You have to ask one more question, Marti.”

All of a sudden Nico’s voice sounds so rough that Martino’s eyes snap back to his face to check if he’s crying. He’s not. His eyes are clear and rapt, studying Martino’s features in a way that makes him wonder what he looks like right now. Whether he seems even half as beautiful to Nico as Nico is to him.

They stopped walking, Marti realizes. The nose of his shoe starts digging into the wet sand on autopilot.

“Your... favorite memory?”

“I’m working on it,” Nico smiles. Another cloud hides the sun from view and the moment is gone. “Come on, we need to reach the pier before dark.”

* * *

They pick up the pace and cross the rest of the beach in twelve minutes tops. Meanwhile, Nico retells the life and times of Sandro, his rally racer grandpa, who took little Nico to car shows and speed festivals and who left him the Cortina. (“Dad’s the official owner, but the whole family knows the true heir is me.”)  

One little incident occurs right by the pier, when Nico stops to snap a picture of his pristine suede sneakers next to some shells and seaweed. The lighting is not to his satisfaction and he keeps emitting annoyed little tsks as he turns his phone this way and that above the ground.

“Nico…”

“Just a moment, Marti, I almost…got...”

“Nico, careful!”

Out of nowhere, a big wave breaks against the shore, releasing a foamy tide that threatens to submerge Nico’s feet up to his ankles. Without a second thought, Martino rushes to his side and half-drags the other boy to higher ground, cold water licking at their heels. For a few blissful seconds, his arms are full of Nico, both of them laughing and stumbling into each other. Martino is overwhelmed by his warmth, the easy comfort of a smaller body against his own. Letting go of Nico is a new, unfamiliar kind of loss.

“What size are they, 41?” Nico glances down at Martino’s seaweed-splattered Nikes.

“42, actually. Why?”

_Don’t joke about big feet don’t joke about big feet-_

“Looks like I owe you new shoes now, to repay this valiant rescue.” His smile is guilty and cheeky all at once.

“Idiot,” Martino breathes, rolling his eyes, and Nico smiles even brighter.

* * *

The white marble of the pier is painted pink with the last rays of the setting sun when Martino and Nico finally step onto it. It’s full of strolling couples and little kids zigzagging between them. An old man is strumming something intricate and Spanish-sounding on his guitar.

The place is not as serene as the empty beach, but it’s a different kind of peace. Martino feels invisible, in a good way. A person like any other, free to just be.

“So, this is your favorite spot?” He asks to be sure, but also to hear Nico’s voice again.

“Yes. You like it here?” Nico looks up at him hopefully from under a mess of curls. Martino’s fingers itch to tuck them to the side. He grabs the straps of his backpack instead.

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool.”

“You know what’s cool? Come, I’ll show you.”

Mind switching into another gear, Nico takes Martino by the elbow and tugs him to the northern side of the pier. Martino squints at the horizon before realizing Nico is pointing at something on top of the banister. Words, written in a slanted hand, black marker on white marble. _Vorrei portarti al mare, anzi portarti il mare._

“Huh, I know this song.” It might be overused by now, but Martino still likes it.

Nico nods, tracing the letters with the pad of his finger. “Every time I come here I find something new, it’s like a living book of quotes.”

They move slowly along the railing, discovering more messages in every language and color. _È sempre bello averti intorno. M+D= <3\. Cercami dove il mare finisce. I love pUssY. _

“How romantic,” Martino snorts at the last one. They stop to look at the sun instead, the burning disk dipping slowly into the water.

“You got a pen? We could write something, too.”

Truth be told, Martino had the same idea. He flops his backpack on top of the banister and goes through every compartment methodically.

“No...nope...nothing here...ah! I forgot I even had this. But it's red.”

“Even better.” Nico snatches the marker from Martino's fingers and starts scribbling, covering the letters with his free hand.

“What- Let me see, Nico!”

“Wait.”

“Is it a bad word? Nico, we'll get arrested. Come on, show me.”

Finally, Nico caps the pen, letting Martino slide closer to make out the words in the dimming light. He reads them out loud.

“Marti...and Nico.” Nico put little hearts above the i's in place of dots.

“Good?” Nico knocks his shoulder carefully into Marti's. Their arms stay pressed together shoulder to elbow. 

“Yeah,” Martino replies, almost in a whisper. The air seems to shift in the small space around them, and suddenly Martino feels light-headed.

When Nico turns to look at him, their faces are so close that the longest of Nico's curls is tickling his temple. Martino’s eyes drop to Nico's lips, half-open and shiny where Nico just licked them. Without checking, he knows that Nico is looking at his mouth as well.

_If you don't kiss me soon I think I might go mad._

But they can't, not here in full view of all the people gathered to admire the sunset. Not here.

Martino bites his lip and pushes back from Nico a little to put some distance between their bodies. Before he gathers his scattered thoughts enough to form any words, there's a loud splash below, followed by Nico's quiet _fuck._

They crane their necks to watch Martino's backpack get completely soaked and swallowed by the water in seconds.

“Shit, I must have knocked it off with my elbow… shit.” His wallet. His headphones. His keys. Nico's ankle weights. All gone. And worst of all—

_Porca troia. Giovanni is going to kill me._

“God, I’m such a dumbass.”

“Hey, hey, Marti. Look at me. You’re not a dumbass. It’ll be ok.” Nico rubs his shoulder soothingly, trying to catch Martino’s eye.

“No, you don’t get it, I drowned my keys, mom’s gone to Cecina to see my nonna, and if I call Gio he’ll ask about his tank top so I can’t stay with him either...” Martino pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Great. Now the battery’s dead, too.”

“You could stay with me?” Nico smiles at him, gentle and reassuring. “My parents will be home late, but I’m sure they won’t mind. You can charge your phone and call your mom in the morning.”

The decision to spend the night at Nico’s should probably feel more momentous. But all it takes in the end is Marti nodding and breathing out, the pressure easing off his chest.

“Thank you. And sorry about...the hostages. They sank with the rest.”

Nico scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

They watch the sea for a while, the evening flights taking off from Fiumicino, the reds and yellows in the west that are turning colder by the minute. On the way back to the car, the whole world around them is pale blue.

They don’t exchange many words but they can't stop smiling. The back of Nico's hand brushes Martino’s once, and then a second time. The third time, as they turn into a quiet street, Martino links their pinkies together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forehead kisses to everyone who still follows this, oh my god. 
> 
> Hope you like this one, I legit traveled to Italy to get the location right. Here's a somewhat blurry photo of the pier in Lido di Ostia  
> https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/03/0e/91/ae/pontile-di-ostia.jpg
> 
> And here's a beautiful beautiful art for this chapter from the multi-talented Fxckxxp whose Nicotino fics are my Bible  
> https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/post/187581921141/the-white-marble-of-the-pier-is-painted-pink-with
> 
> The title song is Beach (I Wanna Make You Mine) by Will Joseph Cook  
> The lyrics that Nico points out are from La Musica Non C'è by Coez


	11. Thought you'd never ask

A gentle hand rubbing his shoulder is the first thing he’s aware of.

“Marti. Marti, wake up.”

With a grumble, Martino scrunches his eyes even more shut and stretches his limbs as far as they would go. Which isn’t far, really, because they’re in a car. He fell asleep in Nico’s car. The realization makes his eyes snap open.

“We just arrived. Hi there, Sleeping Beauty.” Nico’s voice is impossibly soft, on the edge of a whisper, and the wide-eyed expression on his face... Well. Elia would probably describe it as _looking at someone like they shit rainbows_ , but all Martino knows is that no one has ever looked at him this way before.

“Shut up.” He can’t help but smile as he closes one eye to rub the sleep out of it.

Nico’s smile grows from a quirk of lips to full-scale beaming. He squeezes Martino’s shoulder quickly and lets go to turn off the engine.

“Come on, I’ll find you a better place to sleep.”

There’s no shade of innuendo in the words but Martino blushes anyway, stupidly, and thanks the dark outside for hiding it as he gets out of the car and follows Nico to the lavish entrance gate. The heavy glass door opens into a brightly-lit foyer paved with polished stone. The shimmering crystal chandelier above makes Martino’s eyes hurt.

“You live here?” It comes out more incredulous than he intended.

“Too much?” Nico laughs over his shoulder. “The apartment is not this flashy. My parents aren’t home yet so you’ll get a full tour.”

“Lucky me,” Martino retorts easily. Nico laughs again, starting up the spotless marble stairs with Martino a step behind.

They have cleared one flight when one of Nico’s arms reaches back, blindly, grabby fingers clenching and unclenching around empty air. Martino looks up at the back of Nico’s head, at the gentle roll of his shoulders under the simple black shirt, and catches Nico’s hand with one of his own. Nico doesn’t stop or turn around, but Martino can tell how wide his smile is just from the way his cheek pulls up.

They walk up two more floors like this, Nico tugging Martino along and taking two steps at a time. Martino’s heart is in his throat, equal parts from anticipation and the effort of keeping up.

“This is it,” Nico tells him with a reassuring press of his fingers. They pass a short corridor and stop in front of a tall wooden door with an ornate handle. Martino thinks it resembles something out of a magic castle in a storybook.

Nico fishes the keys out of his pocket with his free hand. The door swings open reluctantly and in the same instant, they hear a faint sound of music. Somewhere in the depths of the apartment, a pan lands heavily on the stove and hot oil gives out an angry hiss before it’s covered with a lid again.

“No, this is impossible…” Nico moves towards the sound in quick strides. Martino has no choice but to follow, barely catching a glimpse of overflowing bookshelves and a stately leather couch.

They make a turn and there it is, a spacious, meticulously organized kitchen, and in the middle of it, a wild-haired elderly woman with a cooking apron tied over a dress so colourful it’s almost psychedelic. She’s tapping a wooden spoon on the edge of a steaming pan as her hips sway to a bouncy Latino tune coming from a small portable radio. The singer goes into the chorus and the woman joins her with an air of a natural-born performer.

“Y yo no soy abusadora, yo no soy abusadora, yo no soy abusadora, yo no soy!” Every _soy_ is accompanied by a dramatic hand movement that makes it extremely difficult for Martino to stifle a giggle.

“Is this your…”

Nico lets go of Martino's hand with a heavy sigh. “This is Marisol, our housekeeper.”

* * *

Martino quickly learns the two main things about Marisol:

  1. she is a kind, generous soul, ready to ensure the comfort of everyone in the house;
  2. she is not to be argued with.



The boys are not allowed to move a single step further before they sit down and consume a healthy amount of Marisol’s signature risotto. On top of that, Nico (or “Nicolás, corazoncito” as she calls him) has to retell every single thing that happened to him in the last 48 hours, including a detailed description of every meal.

In Nico’s story, Martino turns into a pal from uni who had his bag stolen and has no other option but to take advantage of Nico’s hospitality. Something along those lines — it’s hard to pay attention when Nico’s shin keeps brushing his under the table.

Every time Marisol turns away to check on her pans, Nico throws Marti a cheeky smile, but the tightness around his eyes betrays just how annoyed this interruption really makes him. Martino tries to make his own smile comforting.

_I know. I want to be alone with you as well._

Finally, they are sent on their way with a kiss on each cheek and an order to show up later for the sampling of amaretti cookies.

Nico bustles around, moving a pile of books from his bed to his desk and turning on several mismatched lamps. Every new ring of light reveals another corner of the room, walls covered in anatomy posters, printouts about healthy eating, hand-written notes, and countless polaroids. There’s a treadmill on one side of the room with a box of random sports gear on it, topped by a glass weighing scale.  

“Get comfy, I just need to grab my laptop and a charger for your phone.” Nico shoves something shapeless and heavy under his bed and scurries out of the room.

Left on his own, Martino perches cautiously on the edge of the bed, suddenly unsure about possible boundaries and whether he’s crossing them already. It’s obvious that Nico doesn’t want Marisol to be aware of anything happening between them.

_Maybe I should call Gio and ask to stay with him after all._

But he doesn’t want to leave Nico like this — too many questions asked and too few answers given. It might be his intuition, or his heart, but something tells him that they must put their cards on the table tonight. Marti doesn’t want to guess anymore.

When Nico returns a minute later, he is wearing a different shirt and his hair is significantly less wild than the sea breeze had made it. Martino doesn’t comment, taking the proffered charger and finally plugging his phone into the socket above Nico’s desk. A deluge of notifications makes the device buzz frantically in his hand.

_Mamma: Just arrived, your nonna and Silvio say hi. Left you some money in the usual place. Don’t spend it all on takeaway._

_Luchino: pizza and the MCU this weekend? You guys can come over to my place but the pizza’s on you because I’m broke_

_Pilates groupchat: 257 new messages_

_Gio: Hey zozzone how did it go with the tank top?? My guess is very well since you’re not picking up my calls_

“Good news?”

Martino turns around to see Nico sitting cross-legged on one half of the bed. He must have noticed Martino smirking at his phone.

“Just silly messages from the gang.” Martino shrugs and types out a quick reply.

_It definitely worked, but there was a little problem. I’ll explain later._

* * *

“You _have_ to see Firefly, ok? It’s not from the 90s but the atmosphere is amazing and I’m pretty sure you’ll dig it.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Martino would say yes to anything right now. This is the cosiest he has been in his entire life, if lying on the bed with one side of your body virtually smouldering can be called that.

Everything about Nico is warm. His eyes. His smile. His excited voice. His body where it’s pressed to Martino’s, shoulder to hip and hip to ankle, the razor-thin laptop balanced on their stomachs. Nico seems unsure where his hand should go after pressing play, so Martino decides for him and takes it; and that’s warm, too.

They are sharing a pair of earbuds, which creates a peculiar sound effect: Martino’s left ear is filled with the banter of Serenity’s space crew, while the right one picks up the passionate arguments of Paola and Carlos, the protagonists of Marisol’s favorite telenovela.

Nico laughs easy and often, mouthing his favorite lines along with the characters, stealing glances at his neighbour to see what effect they have on him. Martino soon learns to anticipate those moments just from the little twitches of Nico’s fingers between his. Feeling them floods his chest with such tenderness that his eyes start to prickle.

Before he knows it, the pilot episode is over and Nico is tugging on the wire to make both of their earbuds pop out. He cranes his long neck to have a proper look at Martino’s face.

“Well?”

“You were right, it’s a cool show. Weird how I never heard of it before.”

“It was cancelled after one season.”

“What? No!”

“Ha. Wait till you learn about the fandom petition and the terrible movie that came out of it.” Nico’s head does the wiggle again, his eyes sparkling.

Martino squirms to his side, still holding Nico’s hand and Nico’s gaze. “I think I know why you like Firefly so much.”

Nico cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because of Zoe. Bet she’s your favorite character. No-nonsense lady with a big gun, like Sarah Connor and Ellen Ripley. You have a type.”

Nico hides a snort in his pillow and peeks slyly at Martino with half his face still buried in it.

“Then I know who’s _your_ favorite character. Simon Tam, the handsome doctor.”

And just like that, Martino is tired of playing it cool. Everything that’s been building up in him (since the beach, since the drive, since Nico met his eyes in the gym) is ready to spill over.

“He’s alright. But he has nothing on you.”

It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but it looks like Nico’s cheeks go pink. He looks down, bashful, then back at Marti with a pleased little smile.

_Now._

With deliberate care, Martino untangles their fingers, gets up on one elbow, and waits for Nico to mirror his position. Long seconds pass with them facing each other, eager eyes darting to smiling lips and up again. Double-checking. Daring.  

Nico gives in first. “Marti... can I kiss you?”

_I thought you’d never ask._

Martino swallows and closes his eyes. Between this breath and the next, he will give Nico his answer.

“Nicolás, mijo! I made cocoa for you and your friend, I’m bringing it over!”

The sound that leaves Nico’s chest is pure frustration. Martino sympathizes, he really does, but somehow the ridiculousness of it all overtakes every other thought. He gives out a short laugh, sucks in a breath to make a quip—

“Freeze.” Nico presses a finger to Martino’s lips, completely derailing his train of thought. “Don’t move, don’t open your eyes. I’ll be back in a second. Please?” It’s so desperate that Martino doesn’t have the heart to disobey. He hums a yes. The finger disappears.

“No, no, I’ll get it!” Nico is up and out of the room in a flash, leaving Marti amused and motionless and sightless on his bed.

“Take care, Nicolito, you’ll scald yourself!”

“It’s fine, Marisol, thank you so much.”

“I told you, no running!”

“I’m not running!”

The hurried shuffle of socked feet.

The bang of the door closed with a hip.

The thump of two mugs on the tabletop.

The tiny squeak of the mattress dipping under a body.

The almost-painful pounding of Marti’s heart.

“Unfreeze.” It fans across Martino’s cheek, followed by a soft palm.

Nico tilts Martino’s face up and kisses him.

Marti only kissed one person before — a spindly, big-eyed girl called Emma. The whole experience lasted about four seconds and left him very underwhelmed. Kissing Nico feels nothing like that.

His lips are full and sweet, tasting faintly of almonds from the cookies. The first touch is brief and dry. The second one, slower and wetter. Nico’s fingers slide into the hair on Martino’s nape, angling his head to deepen the kiss. The tip of Nico’s nose pushes into his cheek; the tips of Nico’s curls brush silkily over his forehead. As if everything in Nico is reaching out to him, caressing him.

Martino wants to touch, too, wants Nico to know just how right this feels, after waiting and holding back for so long. But his elbow is getting sort of numb from keeping his weight on it, so he pulls away with a satisfied hum and stretches on his back, smiling up at Nico’s puzzled face.

“Tsk, tsk. You didn’t wait for my answer there.”

“Ah, no?” Nico sees through the ploy immediately, leaning closer until Martino thinks they will both go cross-eyed. “And what was your answer going to be?”

This close, Martino can smell his own shampoo on Nico’s hair. His stomach fills with big fluffy butterflies, and each of them is crazy about Nico.

“Yes. Yes, you can kiss me.” He pulls Nico’s head down with both hands.

* * *

_“Quiero que te olvides de cada chico que te sonrío...cada hombre con el que hayas coqueteado…de todos menos de mí.”_

_“Sí, Carlos….sí…_ ”

Martino giggles into Nico’s shoulder. “Does she have to watch it so loud?”

“You want me to go ask her to turn the volume down?”

Nico moves to sit up and Marti’s arm tightens around his chest convulsively to prevent it.

“No! Don’t you dare.” He doesn’t care if it makes him a _sottone_. He’s not letting Nico go.

Nico settles back down, pleased with himself. Slides his hand against the golden hairs on Martino's arm, up to his shoulder and neck. Reaches his face and stays there, tracing the arch of an eyebrow with his finger. Martino feels so spoiled he could purr.

They could probably stay like this for hours, limbs tangled and eyes locked with each other, but in truth, it's just a short break. A moment to catch their breath, to make sure all of this is really happening.

_And then I can kiss him some more._

The thought has Martino bite his lip in anticipation and Nico notices, because of course he does. Nico always pays attention with Marti.

They move in at the same time, mouths lazy but thorough, stealing each other’s air.

Nico’s heartbeat is fast and strong against Marti’s palm when he flattens it over his chest. It’s too much at the same time — the heat of their kiss and the tangible evidence of Nico’s feelings for him. Marti pulls back a bit, but Nico chases him and lands another two smooches as Martino laughs and scrunches up his nose.

He lays his head on its favorite spot on Nico’s shoulder, but Nico’s attention is not so easily diverted. Green eyes are pulled to his mouth in an instant, and soon, there’s a thumb pushing gently into Martino’s sore and tingly lower lip. Dragging it down a little.

Nico sounds dazed. “Your lips are the color of raspberry sorbet.”

The noise of the TV in the next room cuts off, and Martino is saved from swallowing his tongue by the arrival of Nico’s parents.

* * *

It goes like this:

“Hi mom, hi dad. How was the concert?”

“Oh, spectacular. Me and dad are very tired so...”

“Um, is it okay if my friend Martino stays over tonight? He can’t get into his flat and…”

“Of course darling, of course. Friends are very important. Marisol dear, some chamomile tea would be splendid.”

“Just a moment, signora Fares.”

“And before you go, please make sure this boy Maurizio gets everything he needs.”

“It’s Martino, mom.”

“Clean sheets and guest pyjamas already prepared in the living room, signora Fares.”

“Wait, Marisol, there’s really no need…”

“Thank you, Marisol, you are a gem. And good night to you, dear.”

The maternal kiss on Nico’s forehead seals the deal. Less than 5 minutes later, Marisol escorts a confused Martino to the living room couch and doesn’t leave his side until he has changed, brushed his teeth, and settled under the covers.

He is almost disappointed to not get a bedtime story.

* * *

“Marti, wake up.”

The whisper is hushed but insistent, pulling Martino out of his fitful sleep. For a moment he’s completely disoriented, the outline of the room unfamiliar in the dark. He tries to blink into focus.

“Nico?”

“Sshhh. Come here.”

It takes some prodding for Marti to get the message and climb off the couch with a drowsy stumble. There’s no discussion. Nico simply grabs his hand and leads him away on tiptoe, halting once or twice with an ear trained on his parents’ bedroom.

Martino is about sixty percent sure he’s dreaming all of it.

Nico nudges him into his room and shuts the door with a soft click. He turns around to see Martino standing dumbly by the bed, shifting from foot to foot on the stone floor.

“Get in, silly, you’re freezing.”

“Won’t Marisol notice?”

“She went home.”

“And...”

“My parents won’t be up before 10 on a Saturday, I guarantee. Now get in.”

The pocket of warmth under Nico’s blanket feels like heaven. Nico’s hands gripping his sides feel like heaven. Nico’s hot lips pressed to his neck feel like… A huge yawn sneaks up on him so suddenly that Martino can’t suppress it, has to wait for it to pass, and then lies there mortified as Nico laughs into his skin.

“Ni, I’m sorry, you’re not boring me or anything, it’s…”

“No, it’s my fault for dragging you out of bed. You’re tired, it’s been a long day.”

_But I don’t want it to end._

“I’m glad that you woke me up. It’s better here, with you.”

Even at this hour of the night, Nico’s smile lights up the room. He runs his fingers through Marti’s hair, from temple to nape, tucking stray curls away from his face.

“Let’s just sleep. There will be time for other things tomorrow. Ok?”

Martino nods and puckers his lips to kiss the tip of Nico’s nose. “Ok.”

With some strategic wiggling, Nico settles on his side, facing away. Martino is baffled about this arrangement until a determined hand finds his wrist and tugs, making him wrap around Nico’s back with a happy sigh.

His mind is foggy with sleep when he hears Nico’s quiet words.

“Today is my favorite memory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c a n y o u b e l i e v e
> 
> here's a sweet art made for the fic by tinyskamlove!  
> https://tinyskamlove.tumblr.com/post/184878383147/your-favorite-memory-im-working-on-it


	12. Pull yourself together

It’s still early in the morning when he wakes by Nico’s side. No clamor of people hurrying to work, no garbage trucks thundering down the street — just silence and the brittle light of dawn seeping in through the curtains.

Normally, Martino wouldn’t give up sleep before sunrise, especially not on a Saturday. But this time it’s almost a compulsion that stirs him, his body light and his mind alert, like he had given himself a subconscious command to be awake before Nico. He looks over at the boy lying next to him.

_Who’s Sleeping Beauty now?_

During the night, Nico hogged most of the covers and turned over onto his stomach, trapping one of Marti’s legs between his in the process. His face is half-sunk in the pillow and half-covered by curls, so all Martino can see is his mouth, opened just a bit to let out quiet, regular breaths. It’s as simple an action as it gets, this push and pull of life in Nico’s lungs, but Martino is mesmerized. He holds his own breath to listen to Nico’s, and smiles when it’s interrupted briefly by a sniff.

Belatedly, he realizes that his right arm is still around Nico, loose and low on his waist under the blanket. Nico’s shirt must have ridden up because there’s bare skin under Marti’s fingertips, velvety and warm: the small of his back.

Marti’s cheeks heat up, fast. His first impulse is to extricate his hand without disturbing anything, but when he tries to, Nico’s thick eyebrows come together in a frown and he makes an unhappy sound into his pillow. Marti stills, indecisive.

Memories from yesterday start filtering in, one after another, like pictures tied to a single string. Nico pulling him close – tucking Martino’s hand under his cheek – turning his head around to ask for a goodnight kiss without words. Only ever asking for things that Martino is happy to give him.

More touch. More Marti.

He takes a breath and splays his fingers wider to cover more skin, presses the heel of his hand into the sleep-soft muscle and brushes his thumb along the little valley in the middle of Nico’s spine. Nico sighs, melting further into the mattress.

He can’t decide if he wants to wake Nico up and kiss him or keep watching him for another hour. To even have this choice makes his head spin.

Martino Rametta sharing a bed with his pilates instructor.

Marti sharing a bed with Nico.

“This is nice.” Nico yawns and smacks his lips sleepily, encouraging Marti’s hand with a lazy wiggle of his hips.

His eyes are a different green in this light, but they give Marti the same feeling he had on the beach — a wave cresting high inside his chest, throwing him off balance. Only... there’s no need to catch himself anymore.

“ _You_ are nice,” Martino replies and dives forward to press his smiling lips to Nico’s cheek. A quick kiss and retreat, playful and giddy with joy. _Buongiorno._

Nico answers him with a dopey smile of his own. “I think I like waking up with you.”

“Me too.”

Curious fingertips skim over the shell of Martino’s ear and down to his jaw, memorizing the shape. He leans into it, squinting with pleasure, tips up his chin when Nico starts tickling the morning scruff underneath. They giggle, shush each other, giggle again. Rearrange their limbs under the blanket to be as close as possible, knees knocking into knees and noses brushing.

“Why are you awake so early? Did I snore?”

“No.” Martino rolls his eyes at the silliness. Chews on his lip for a bit. “I just don’t want to give you trouble, I guess.”

Some of it is genuine worry about Nico’s family walking in on them and raising hell. Most of it is craving reassurance.

“Marti, trust me, you’re not giving me trouble. Quite the opposite.” Nico cups his cheek and looks him in the eye with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “I’m happy that you’re here.”

He’s suddenly very serious, like there is nothing more important than for Martino to believe these words. And making Nico wary was the last thing Martino wanted, so he uses the first opportunity to shift the mood.

“How happy? Can you show me?”

This surprises a laugh out of Nico, deep and unguarded in the face of Martino’s cheekiness. His grin is the last thing Marti registers before he’s being pushed on his back and kissed within an inch of his life. Nico is making a point — with his lips, with his tongue, with the little sounds he makes into Martino’s mouth.

He’s being very, very convincing.  

They only part when their lungs start begging for air, but Nico stays close. Dark curls obscure Martino’s view until he sees nothing but Nico. He doesn’t care to look at the rest of the world.

“Will that do?” The pink tip of Nico’s tongue pokes out between his teeth in shameless provocation.

“For now,” Martino allows, putting on a thoughtful pout.

It’s difficult to be thoughtful, however, when Nico’s still half on top of him and both of Martino’s hands have found their way onto his back. He inches them higher, rucking up the well-worn t shirt, making Nico’s eyes flutter shut for a second.

Maybe this is the best moment to ask. “What are your plans for today?”

_Am I in them?_

“Oh, we could do something fun. Go to Testaccio, try all the nice things off the stalls... Or how about a swimming pool? Just the two of us, hm?”

 _Just the two of us._ Fireworks go off in Martino’s chest, golden sparks shooting in every direction. It must be showing on his face, too. He grabs at something to say to distract Nico, quick.

“How can we have a whole pool to ourselves? You’re crazy.”

“Leave the details to me.” Nico bends down to kiss away any further comments. Marti’s palms slide all the way up to his shoulder blades, keeping him close.

The distant buzz of his phone slowly reaches Martino through the pleasant haze. It’s hard to refocus his attention, but the early hour of the call piques his curiosity enough to tear himself from Nico and climb off the bed.

“It could be something important, I have to check.”

Nico pats Martino’s pillow. “Ten seconds and then I need you back here.”

Martino can’t help the mushy smile he sends over his shoulder as he shuffles across the room and detaches his phone from the charger.

Two missed calls and several messages, all from his mom. He taps on the notification to read them.

Nico must notice how Martino’s body freezes, hunched over the little screen in his hands. “...Marti? Is everything ok?”

Met with stunned silence, Nico rolls out of bed, kicking off the tangled covers. He reaches Martino in two strides and puts his hands carefully on his cheeks to lift his face.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

Martino’s voice breaks pathetically as soon as he starts speaking. “I’m not sure... I think my grandma’s sick.”

It feels like a brick in his stomach. He reads the message again, a hurried jumble of words — _I’m at the hospital with nonna please come as soon as you can_ — and the stupor gives way to agitation.

“I need to go. Right now.” Then, wincing at the way Nico’s face changes, “Sorry.”

His things, where are his things? Martino turns away from the gentle hands, eyes flitting around the room before he recalls that he doesn’t have his backpack anymore.

Empty-handed and helpless.

Nico appears in his field of vision again, his jaw set with a new conviction.

“Marti, Marti. Where do you need to go?”

“Termini, to catch the first train to Cecina. Can you tell me where the nearest bus stop is?”

Nico looks at him like he’s crazy. “I’m driving you. Go wash up quick, I’ll bring you clothes. Yeah?”

He pauses and waits for Marti to nod, as if embarrassed by his own commanding tone. But Martino finds comfort in it, in being told what to do when his own mind is prickly with panic.

Time turns into snapshots. There is Martino, brushing his teeth in record time while trying not to sully the shiny countertop that Marisol has clearly fussed over. There is Nico, knocking politely on the door and handing over a neat pile with Marti’s jeans, a fresh t-shirt and a clean pair of socks. There is Nico, again, saving Marti when he gets stuck taking off the pyjama top. There are the two of them, running down the stairs, Nico’s hand in his like yesterday.

“We’ll be in time for the 7am train,” Nico says with confidence when they get in the Cortina.

Martino checks his phone: 15 minutes left. He nods, but he doesn’t really think they’ll make it. They don’t talk much on the way, Nico biting his lip and glaring at every traffic light while Marti is trying to get through to his mom.

“Still nothing?” Nico asks once, and frowns when Marti shakes his head. All his calls go to voicemail.

* * *

They get to Termini with enough time to spare. Martino undoes his seatbelt and starts thanking Nico for the ride, but Nico, too, gets out of the car and walks into the busy station with him.

They stop to check the departures board. “Track 4,” Nico murmurs, more to his phone than to Marti. A couple more taps. “Boom. Sent the ticket to your WhatsApp. Let’s go find the train.”

Mechanically, Martino takes his phone out of his pocket. The numbers and letters on the screen refuse to make sense as he’s weaving his way through the crowd until they reach the platform gate.

“But...this is a seat in first class,” Martino finally realizes. He was so frantic to leave, it had completely slipped his mind that he would have to borrow some money for the ticket. And Nico just bought it for him.

Nico shrugs like it’s no big deal, then slaps his palm on his forehead. “Shit, I almost let you leave like this!” He shrugs off his backpack and unzips it with that endearing head wiggle. “Here, your breakfast-to-go from Casa Fares.”

“My breakfast?” Marti reaches for the crinkly paper bag offered to him and peeks inside. Two sandwiches. A banana. A handful of Marisol’s amaretti cookies. A packet of parmesan cubes. A can of ice tea.

The part of him that is not yet overcome with nail-biting worry about his family is telling him to kiss Nico. Now. But they’re in public, so all he can do is gather him in a hug.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Nico’s shoulder at the same time as Nico says “I didn’t know what you’d like— ”.

“It’s awesome, Ni. I don’t know what to say, thank you for everything, and sorry for being like this…”

“Like what? Human?” Nico pulls away with a little smile. “I kind of dig that part.” He squeezes Marti’s shoulders and fixes him with the same intense look he had in bed, just half an hour ago. “Everything is going to be fine, Marti. Trust me.”

Martino just nods. He wants to believe Nico so much.

“Good. Now go, we can’t have you miss the train. I’ll be waiting for an update from you, ok?”

There isn’t time for a proper goodbye – and what _is_ a proper goodbye after you spend several hours glued to each other in bed? Marti has no reference. They embrace again, briefly, and he runs off to the gleaming Freccia.

Once inside the half-empty first-class carriage, Martino takes the window seat and looks out. The angle is all wrong and he can’t see too far ahead, but somehow he knows that Nico’s still where he left him, standing vigil until Martino’s train departs.

* * *

_Hi:)  
_

_Nico (pilates): Marti! Hi, how did it go? How’s your family?  
_

_Not too bad. Apparently Silvio was chasing after another dog, got hit by a car, and grandma was so scared for him she fainted on the sidewalk and broke her wrist_

_Nico (pilates): Shit._

_Yeah. Mom thought it was a heart attack_

_Nico (pilates): But will she be ok?_

_They’ll both be fine, grandma got a cast and Silvio has to wear the cone of shame until his stitches heal.  
Did your parents say anything when you got back? _

_Nico (pilates): About you? Not really. They don’t notice anything besides their own problems most of the time_ _  
_ _You’re staying in Cecina tomorrow?_

 _Tomorrow and maybe on Monday, mom will decide what we do next_ _  
_ _Grandma can’t do much by herself like this but she’s too cool to admit it..._

_Nico (pilates): I’m so relieved that your cool panettone-making grandma will get better:)_

_Thanks! Sorry I have to go now, they need my help. I’ll let you know when I’m coming back ok?_ _I miss you already_

Two blue ticks beside his message and silence. Martino taps his thumb nervously on the side of his phone. Was that too soon? Should he have kept it casual? But he _does_ miss Nico. A lot. And he still feels lousy about leaving the way he had to, giving Nico almost nothing in return for his kindness.

The right words don’t come easy, but he wants Nico to know how much he means to him.

The phone buzzes with another message, and he almost drops it in the rush to unlock the screen.

_Nico (pilates): I miss you too <3 Come back soon _

It’s silly and Martino would never admit it to anyone, but right now he presses the phone to his chest, smiling so hard he feels it in every cell of his body.

* * *

He’s never been comfortable in churches, apart from this one. Martino likes to think it’s the simplicity of the decor — no suffocating swirls of gold anywhere, no graphic depictions of hellish punishment adorning the ceiling. Only tall white walls and lots of air.

Or maybe it’s because his grandmother has been taking him here every Sunday that he happened to be in Cecina, for as long as he can remember. Today is no exception.

He looks over at her familiar profile, eyes raised and lips moving with heartfelt appeals to San Giuseppe — not for divine mercy or eternal salvation, but for the health of her family, this time with a special emphasis on Silvio.

Her hands lie primly in her lap, the one with the cast placed on top of the other, paper-thin skin stretched over the bird-like bones of her fingers. Martino’s heart twists with unspeakable tenderness for every little detail about her, from the fluffy snow-white hair to the low-heeled black shoes she only ever wears to church.

_She’s so fragile and I love her so much._

The thought makes the inside of his nose tickle dangerously with the beginning of tears, and he tries to squash down the feeling. They’ll be ok — his stubborn grandma and her silly dog. He wasn’t late. He wasn’t late.

“Amen,” he hears her whisper, with a firmness that signifies she’s done with prayer for today.   

“Amen,” he echoes, and smiles to himself when she takes the bait.

“You don’t need to pretend you’re praying just for your nonna’s sake, Martino.”

“I know.”

That’s another thing he likes about her – she stopped trying to get him involved in the technicalities of faith as soon as she realized he wasn’t interested. Instead, these trips turned into their time for bonding, for sharing secrets that sometimes not even his mom was privy to.

(When Martino was nine, he confessed to his nonna that he hated his red hair and the countless freckles that always got him taunts in the school yard. Without a hint of humor she told him the freckles were angel kisses, every single one, and that her grandson was closer to God than any of those mean kids. Even then, Martino doubted the God part, but the idea of angel kisses stuck. In his imagination, all angels looked like the ones in his mom’s Caravaggio art book: young and beautiful, with soft curls and toned graceful arms. He wouldn’t mind getting kisses from them.)

“Does it hurt?” He points at her injured wrist with his chin.

“Not as bad as yesterday,” she says, wiggling her fingers a little.

He hates to think of her in pain. “Bad enough for another pill?”

“When we get home,” she nods, then reaches out to squeeze his knee with her good hand. It’s a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t worry about this elderly lady, Martino. Tell me what’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with _me_?”

“Yes, dear. I’m old but I still have my wits about me. Ever since you arrived, you’ve been very quiet and your eyes are shining.”

“Nonna, I…”

In that moment, Father Thomas appears from the confessional, his bald head shining like an Easter egg. “Signora Pucci and young Martino!” he exclaims, spotting them, and walks over hastily to their pew to express his happiness about finding her safe and mostly sound after the accident.

Martino uses this brief distraction to check his phone, skipping mindlessly from app to app until he opens Instagram. By the looks of it, Giovanni is spending his weekend with Eva’s folks, while Elia and Luchi teamed up for pizza and a rewatch of Captain America. He leaves a couple of snarky comments and scrolls on.

The next photo is from _tuttaromaapiedi_ , posted 15 minutes ago.

Martino recognizes Nico’s shoe and the tip of his own sneaker beside it, sinking into the wet sand. Apparenty, Nico managed to snap a picture of their feet on Friday without Martino noticing. _26.10.18, Ostia Lido_ , the caption says, followed by two heart emojis.

Martino’s stomach is completing a complicated somersault when grandma finishes her conversation with Father Thomas and scoots back to his side.

“Ah, bless his heart, this must be the chattiest man of God this parish has seen in the last 30 years.” She gives him a side-eye and clears her throat, lips pressed together in a conspiratorial smile. “You were saying something.”

He could blame what comes next on Nico’s photo catching him off guard, on a random burst of courage, or on the ancient fear of missing his chance to be honest with her. Maybe it’s all three.

“I met someone, nonna.” Her whole face lights up, eyes already full of questions, and he knows he has about 2 seconds to finish what he started. “It’s a boy. I like him a lot.”

He leans back against the pew, only his head turned in her direction, watching her intently. Martino knows his grandma too well for bad surprises, but he doesn’t want to assume anything, not in this moment. 

The smallest frown appears between her eyebrows as she’s listening to him, before her cheeks pull up in that knowing smile she always gives him when she’s proud. Years and years of those smiles imprinted in every wrinkle on her face.

“This is so wonderful, Martino. But he’s a nice boy? Are you happy?”

“I am.” He looks down at his hands, huffing to mask his relief. “And before you ask, no, I don’t have photos of him yet.”

He’s not showing off Nico’s gym selfies, that’s for sure.

“It can wait.” She waves the suggestion off with her hand before reaching up to pet his cheek. “I'm glad you told me. You have so much love in your heart, tesoro. You can't let it go to waste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tesoro - sweetheart
> 
> the title song is my feel good song for the absolute worst times, by The Boxer Rebellion
> 
> Does it bum me out that this chapter took a month? Yes.  
> Am i going to write faster from now on? Unlikely.
> 
> I'm sorry and thanks for reading. Let me know what you think


	13. Returned

“I told nonna about me.”

He says it carefully, without inflection, and waits for his mother to catch on. She doesn’t take long, shifting her weight from tiptoes to heels on the wobbly chair and dropping the wet rag she’s been wiping the shelves with. Martino’s looking up at her, a box with nonna’s freshly washed wine glasses cradled to his chest. Their eyes meet, a silent understanding that they’re on the same page here.

“And what did she say?”

He shrugs, then smiles, lopsided and soft. “That she wants me to be happy with whoever I choose.”

She smiles back, nodding like this is exactly what she expected to hear. It must be a relief for her, he realizes, to know that another member of the family accepts all of Martino, no buts and no exceptions. If not his dad, then his grandma. 

“Is there anything else you want to share?” She cocks one eyebrow at him, eyes glinting with amusement. “For example, why my son is so eager to return to Rome _today_ , even though his classes are almost over and I allowed him to skip Monday anyway?”

He’s not going to blush. He’s not. “Just don’t want to miss the gym. I can’t skip, it’s for a bet with Elia.”

“And bets between boys are sacred.” Her tone is mock-serious, like she doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Exactly.” 

She keeps watching him with something approaching suspicion, so he adds, sheepishly, “But only if you can manage here without me for a bit? I’ll be back for the long weekend, I promise.”

That seems to tip the scales. 

“Well, in that case,” she grips his shoulder for support getting down from the chair, “put the glasses and plates back yourself, my head is starting to spin up here. Then you can go.”

“Thank you, mom!” 

It’s not that he seriously doubted she’d let him leave, but hearing it out loud makes him want to throw a fist in the air. Instead, Marti hastily shoves the box on the counter, glasses clinking, and envelops his mother in a hug that almost makes her lose her footing in surprise.

“Ok, ok, just don’t drop _my_ set of keys in the Tiber, we don’t have spares.” 

She squeezes him in return and kisses his cheek, immediately reaching up to wipe away the lipstick. The familiar gesture makes Marti feel like a little boy again, saying goodbye to his mother at the school gate. The only difference being that he is the one towering over her now, not the other way round.

“You know you can tell your mother anything at all, right, Martino?” 

He looks down at her earnest face, her big brown eyes exactly like his own, faint laugh lines around them and on her cheeks. Blurting his secret out right now, into the homely air of the kitchen, would be fairly easy. She already knows him better than anyone. 

But something holds him back, as if one more person finding out about Nico would be enough to jinx the whole thing. 

“Maybe later,” he says, and means it. He wants her to know, eventually. And he can tell from her expression that she understands. 

An image of Nico being presented to his mother — smiling in that irresistible way of his, with an arm slung casually around Marti’s waist — comes unbidden. He tries to shake it off, amazed by his own mind’s audacity. 

There’s a distressed sort of bark from the other room, followed by his grandma’s frustrated voice.

“Giulia! Silvio got himself stuck under the sofa again!”

They both roll their eyes in perfect sync and smile at each other’s predictability. 

“Coming, mama!” 

Marti watches her dash off to avert this little crisis, but his mind is on a different track already. 

He’s going back to Rome — _back to Nico_ — today.

* * *

_Ni I’m so sorry, this stupid train was 20 minutes late! I’m not gonna make it in time_

_Nico (pilates): Don’t worry, the gym is not going anywhere... I’m waiting for you <3 _

_On my way <3 _

Martino pockets his phone and peers out of the dusty window, his leg jittering with anxiety. 

He had to make a stop at home to change into something pilates-appropriate, which already robbed him of precious time. Now he’s stuck on the slowest bus in the universe, running into red light after red light, heaving and rattling like it’s going to fall apart any second. It’s like the gods of ATAC know exactly why he’s in a hurry and are having a good laugh at his twitching mess of a heart.

He has missed Nico even before this weekend — missed his electrifying presence and his dorky moves and his bouncing curls. Missed him before he could admit it to himself. But after those few hours he had spent alone with Nico, getting to know him, the whole thing got a thousand times worse. 

There’s so much more to miss now, it makes his muscles ache and his chest tighten. Lying next to him. Holding him. Making him smile and laugh and blush. Hearing him say Marti’s name. Watching his eyelids flutter in sleep. 

It’s been two mornings without Nico by his side. Marti feels bereft. 

And nervous, too: what if Nico has changed his mind about them? Has decided that Marti was too awkward, too high-maintenance? Not a good enough kisser? He catches himself touching his lip absent-mindedly and jerks his hand away.

Logically, he knows that Nico wouldn’t send _good morning_ and _goodnight_ messages every day to someone he changed his mind about. He just needs to see Nico in the flesh again for that logic to take root. 

The packed bus spits him out near the gym about one eternity later. Marti runs inside, tosses his bag into the locker, and pushes through a mob of sweaty crossfitters on his way to the Pilates room. Even before he reaches it, he can hear Nico’s voice carrying over the thumping beat, giving out directions and encouragements to the group. It’s like a hook in Marti’s ribcage — he barely feels the ground under his feet as he makes the last few steps to the door and flings it open. 

The girls are doing forward lunges with weight plates, meaning that Marti missed a good chunk of the class. Nico’s in front, setting an example with his back perfectly straight and his muscles flexing as he twists the weight plate to the side on every lunge.

Methodical. Efficient. Hypnotizing.

It takes an extra second or two for Marti’s brain to reconcile this Nico with the Nico he remembers, the dishevelled one who stretched like a cat and melted into kisses. The pause is enough for Nico to spot him and spring to his feet, a sparkle in his eyes as he looks Marti up and down. 

“Look who decided to join us! You know the rule, Marti, 10 burpees and 10 pushups for showing up late, come on!”

To be honest, this rule sounds like something Nico just made up. Still, Marti doesn’t argue, walking to a free spot in the very back and getting straight to the task with a bitten-back smile. There’s enough energy in his body for 30 burpees, he feels so light. 

When he moves on to pushups Nico suddenly materializes by his side, kneels on the floor and places his hand on Marti’s lower back.

“Keep a straight line, Marti,” he murmurs, as if he’s really there to correct Marti’s form, as if his fingertips aren’t pressing into Marti’s skin through the t-shirt in an invisible greeting. Somehow Marti manages to keep going, huffing through the rest of the pushups with Nico’s palm warm and solid in its spot.

It dawns on Marti that Nico couldn’t wait a single minute before trying to touch him. If his heart weren’t already hammering from the burpees, that thought would surely do it.

“Good job,” Nico praises as soon as the last penalty pushup is done. 

Marti sits up, short of breath and smiling through it. “Thanks.”

He puts too much feeling into the word to be casual, like it belongs to a different conversation altogether. The look he gets in response is far from casual too: soft crinkly eyes, indulgent smile. Nico licks his lower lip before sinking his teeth into it, and honestly, Marti could tackle the little shit right now. In front of everyone.  _Better drop that thought._

The threat must be evident in Marti’s expression, because Nico finally schools his face into a semblance of modesty, gives Marti’s side a tiny squeeze and jogs off to start the next set of exercises. Marti breathes out, bracing himself for 40 minutes of waiting.

Ten of those go by peacefully. Marti gets into the rhythm enough to let his mind wander, eyes following Nico’s movements with a bit of a lag, as if to throw off suspicion. (From whom, he doesn’t really know. Doing this is second nature by now.) 

Only when Nico squats briefly by the boombox to change the track does Martino allow himself to admire the slope of his neck, his biceps, the wide shoulders trimming into a narrow waist. He can’t wait for this class to be over. 

Nico stands up and Martino’s eyes jump to the spot where he’s just been, the small pile of Nico’s stuff coming into focus. There’s Nico’s familiar duffel bag, half-unzipped with his spare shoes peeking out. There’s a haphazard stack of CDs. There’s an empty water bottle with a cartoon giraffe printed on it. There’s Marti’s backpack, not a pin out of place, wrapped carefully in plastic like an important piece of evidence. Or a present.

Marti stops in his tracks and blinks forcefully a couple of times, looks at it again. Yes, definitely his backpack, presumed lost in the Mediterranean just three days ago, when Marti was so drunk on Nico he almost kissed him on the pier.  

Behind his lungs, a feeling swells, sudden and swift. He catches Nico’s eye across the room. 

The wave topples over. 

Nico sends Marti a playful wink, but his expression turns perplexed when he sees Marti drop his dumbbells, grab his phone off the floor and dash out of the room while faking the most unconvincing call in history.

“Hi! No, I’m at the gym! Gym! Give me a second, okay, the music is too loud in here!”

Marti pockets the phone as soon as he’s out of everyone’s sight. Pacing back and forth in the cool and empty hallway, he listens to the sounds from the Pilates room and waits. 

Soon the song ends and Nico’s voice, muffled through the door, instructs the girls to take a 5-minute break and get their steppers ready. The next moment he’s out the door, face twisted in concern, arms reaching out for Marti. 

“What’s going on? Is it your nonna again?”

Marti shakes his head, smiling. “No, no, she’s fine.” 

Without preamble, he grabs Nico’s hand and pulls him down the hallway, into the laundry room where a row of shiny washing machines is chewing on dozens of identical gym towels. 

He has to raise his voice over the noise. “Ni, what did you do?”

“Marti, what— “

He takes Nico’s face in his hands, crowding him slowly into the wall. “How did you get it out? Did you _dive_ for it? Tell me.”

Understanding spreads over Nico’s face in a soft smile. Soft with a side of smug. “It’s not the bottom of the Mariana Trench, Marti. By the way, the dry cleaning people told me some seaweed smell will stay on the clothes, but… at least your keys and your metro card are fine.” 

“You. You went back to Ostia and got it for me, on the weekend.” Marti can’t smile any wider, his cheeks are stinging.

Strong arms snake around Marti’s waist to bring him closer. “Mhm,” Nico agrees with a cute head wobble, chin raised and lips pressed together to keep in a laugh. 

_How can I ever repay you for everything?_

“You’re a bit crazy, you know that?” Marti’s fingertips run over Nico’s soft cheeks and sharp jaw, slide into the short curls above his neck. He missed this, all of this. So much.

Nico raises his eyes with a sigh, a picture of forbearance. “I think you told me before. So do I get a _thank you_ kiss or n—” 

He covers Nico’s mouth with his own, quick and sloppy. Pulls back to align their faces better and kisses him again. His blood sings with it, his skin goes hot everywhere they’re touching. Nico holds him tight and gives as good as he gets, humming low in his throat and sucking Marti’s bottom lip gently to make him whimper. The whirring of the machines swallows it all. 

The initial urgency of the kiss gives way to a familiar rhythm, addictive and sweet. Marti forgets where he is, how he got here, or how long they’ve been like this. Nico is so good to him, feels good against him. 

“Marti, Marti, I have to go. I left them all waiting...” Nico breathes out way too soon. His hands twitch on Marti’s back, like he can’t decide if he wants to push him away or pull him in.

“Let them wait.” Marti hides his face in Nico’s neck to press a small kiss to the slightly sticky skin. They’ve been apart for so long, this isn’t _fair_. 

But Nico is right. Somebody could go looking for him and walk in on them. 

He pushes off Nico regretfully and checks him over. The headband went askew, so he fixes that, carefully arranging the hair above it. Nico lets him, watching in amusement as Marti sets the last curl into place, takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Done, now you can go. Better not make them suspicious.” 

It’s a feat of self-restraint. He must come off huffy as a result, because Nico seems hesitant. “Marti...” 

“It’s ok, go on. I’ll be right behind you, Ni, I promise.” 

_We can’t come back together, after all._

As soon as the door closes behind Nico, Marti lets himself lean on the wall and closes his eyes. He’s pretty sure he never felt more wonderful in his life, and all he wants is to savor the feeling. 

He doesn’t get the chance to. Seconds later, the door flies open again and Nico’s all over him, fisting the front of his shirt and kissing his cheeks, his nose, his chin — anywhere he can reach. Marti’s breath rushes out of him. He tries to kiss back but misses every time, deciding at last to let Nico have his way with him.

“You — are — impossible!” Nico punctuates every word with a loud, deliberate smooch and pulls away only to nudge their foreheads together. “Sorry. Couldn’t just walk away like that.”

 _I really don’t mind,_ Marti wants to say, but all he manages is a head shake and a faltering gulp. Nico grins at him, his eyes right opposite Marti’s with all their glittery warmth. 

“How about we go and get some gelato after? You in?”

“Of course.” 

“Perfect.” One last lingering kiss on the lips and Nico takes off, leaving Marti staring into space with a dreamy smile.

A second date.  

After a long minute, he steps out into the hallway, breathes in deep, and heads back to the pilates room with a spring in his step.

* * *

“I’m not seeing you tomorrow, am I?” 

Nico pulls up to the curb near Marti’s house, leaving the engine on idle. He looks over at Marti in the passenger seat and bites the inside of his cheek, which doesn’t do much to hide his smile. Nico’s smiling all the time when they are together it seems; it just travels to different parts of his face or body. Sometimes his shoulders are smiling, and sometimes his curls. At least that’s how it looks to Marti.

“Don’t think so. I missed a whole day of class today and I missed some last week, so...” Marti gestures vaguely in the air to illustrate his misfortune. “I’ll get in trouble if I don’t catch up.”

“And we don’t want that.” Nico wiggles his eyebrows, making Marti laugh. One of his hands leaves the wheel to smooth over Marti’s cheek. “I had a great time today. Thank you for taking me up there.”

“You’re welcome.” _It’s where my mom used to take me all the time,_ Marti almost adds, but decides not to bring her into the conversation just yet.

Marti had a great time too — perched on top of the stone wall in Giardino degli Aranci, watching the sun set over Rome with Nico by his side. The place was crowded as usual at this time of day, which used to irritate him, but this evening it just meant that nobody batted an eyelid at them pressing their ankles and thighs and shoulders together, squeezed between all the other people lucky enough to get a sitting spot. Nico faked almost falling off the precipice once, making Marti yelp and drop his gelato in an attempt to catch him. 

“ _Scemo_ ,” he scolded, and it came out sounding like an endearment. 

They did have a wonderful time.

“Can you keep something for me?” Nico’s question brings Marti back to the present.

“What is it?”

“Give me your hand.”

Martino does, suspicious and curious in equal measure. Nico takes it and pulls carefully, exposing the pale underside of Marti’s arm.

“Here.” He leans down to press a kiss to the inside of Marti’s elbow, then bends Marti’s arm up like he just gave him an injection. “Don’t lose it, I’ll want it back next time.” 

Marti doesn’t know what his face is doing, avoids checking the rearview mirror. All the kisses they exchanged in the last three or four hours, and it’s _this_ one that makes him blush the deepest. “Ok, no problem.” 

“Goodnight then, Marti. See you Wednesday.”

“Goodnight, Nico.”

He gets out of the car with his newly-recovered backpack on one shoulder, the opposite arm still folded up, a small patch of skin there tingling with the memory of Nico’s lips.

The Cortina roars to life and drives away no sooner than Marti walks through his front gate, making him linger and smile at the sound.

Martino Rametta must be the luckiest boy in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis nothing but ye olde fluffe, my darlings. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Been through some shit lately, but let's hope I can churn out the next chapter quicker than this one. Love, Bee
> 
> P.S. this is what Il Giardino degli Aranci looks like at sunset, if you're curious https://live.staticflickr.com/1735/40646916220_2b9cdbfea2_b.jpg
> 
> *scemo - idiot


	14. Tuesday I'm in love

Marti wakes up smiling.

It never happened before, not in all of his 17 and a half years, not even when the reason of his waking was the smell of delicious food. And it has definitely been years since he woke up so well-rested before school. 

Nico’s _Rise and shine, Marti:)_ is waiting for him when he pulls his phone from under the pillow, making him smile all the wider. He shoots back a _Good morning!_ and at least five heart emojis before dropping it back on the bed and stretching his limbs far far far with a happy groan.

Without his mom there to pester him about breakfast, Marti skips it, deciding that early arrival will give him a chance to copy homework from Gio or Sana. Gio would help him out of goodwill; Sana just can’t stand hearing a wrong answer without correcting it.

Rome greets him sunny and fresh, October wind sticking cool fingers under his jacket and ruffling his curls. It smells like dry leaves and new beginnings, so Marti breathes in deep and feels like a new person, too: someone important, someone who’s missed when he’s away. 

Someone kissable. 

Heat rises in his cheeks when he remembers their walk down from the garden last night. The sloping stretch of the road was so deserted in the dusk that Nico risked winding his arm around Marti’s waist, drew Marti close and smooched him quick and silly on the side of his neck. Back in the safety of the car, Nico’s kisses turned slow and savoring, hands holding Marti’s face up like a blossom or a holy text. 

He dips his chin, helplessly pleased with the memory and trying to hide it from the world. New Marti still has to wear his old skin when he’s at school.

* * *

The squad is at the usual spot by the school gate, Elia’s arm around Luchi’s shoulders as they talk animatedly over each other, making Gio facepalm. 

“Please don’t tell me Luchino came up to the girls with pizza sauce on his forehead.”

“I did!”

“He did! And when they told him about it, he wiped it off and licked his finger and… Oh, hi Marti!” 

“How’s life, man?” Gio latches onto Marti like a lifeline, clearly not anxious to hear the end of the pizza sauce story. “Good weekend?”

“Not too bad,” he smiles, shaking hands and slapping shoulders until he’s done with all three boys. “What are you rascals up to?”

“You missed out on an adventure by not joining me and Luchi this Saturday.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

Elia starts bringing him up to speed, playing out the scene with enthusiastic gestures and pretend voices. It sounds like a fun story, but soon Marti finds himself too distracted to follow. 

There seems to be an excess of joy inside him, simmering and expanding, ready to envelop the whole wide world. The day is beautiful, he feels amazing, and he loves his squad. Give Marti a genie lamp right now and he wouldn’t know what to ask for. 

Well, maybe for the freedom to talk about Nico as openly as his friends do about girls. Not that his thing with Nico is comparable to Elia and Luchi’s pathetic quests for phone numbers. 

_My thing with Nico._

The thought has his stomach swooping with nervous excitement. After two dates and one night together, it’s safe to say they’re dating, right? So that means they’re a couple, like Gio and Eva? Not exactly like them, of course; Gio and Eva have been together for ages. But still. Are they ‘official’? Would Nico want that? Oh god, first he needs to ask Nico to be his _boyfriend_... 

Wait a second. Last night, should he have asked Nico to come up to his apartment? Nico knew Marti was home alone, so maybe he was expecting an invitation? Especially since Marti stayed over at Nico’s before? On the other hand, Marti had an excuse to stay over. Spending the night because you’ve been invited must be a different case entirely.

Gio’s arm lands on his shoulders, knocking Marti’s frantic reasoning off course. “Guess what, none of you have better news from the weekend than me. I got my own scooter!”

A chorus of incredulous exclamations from the boys makes the entire morning school crowd turn to stare in their direction.

“A scooter! But how?”

“My aunt bought a new Vespa so she let me have the old one. On the condition that I treat it with care.”

“Is it red?”

“No, Luchi, sorry. Plain black.”

“Can you take us for a ride? Please, Gio.”

“Technically, I still need to practice before I’m allowed to ride it in the street…” A dramatic pause. “But we can try it out in my yard tonight.”

“ _Daje_! I’m calling dibs on the first ride, Eli.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re not savages. Let’s settle this like men.”

As Elia and Luchino clash in a furious match of rock-paper-scissors, Giovanni nods at Martino. “You coming? I have a spare helmet and everything. Gonna be fun.”

Marti shrugs one shoulder under Gio’s arm and smiles. “Sure, why not.” He’s not seeing Nico tonight anyway. “Oh, and Gio...I’ll need to copy some homework from you. If that’s ok.”

“No problem,” Gio pats him on the back quickly, one-two, as if to seal the promise. “I’ve missed you, man. You’ve got to tell me how it went on Friday, too.” 

They both know there’s no pressure behind the suggestion: everything Marti shares with Gio are things that _he_ wants to get off his chest. The great thing about Gio is that he’s always there: to listen when Marti wants to talk or to keep him company when he doesn’t. Marti feels terribly lucky to have him.

Elia’s scissors tear through Luchi’s paper without mercy, leaving him the winner, and then it’s time to go to class. Maybe, Marti thinks, hoisting his bag on one shoulder and trailing through the school gate, maybe he’s finally ready to come clean to his best friend. About himself and about Nico. 

Who knows. This morning, nothing seems impossible. 

* * *

_Nico (pilates): How’s school? I dreamed of you today, you know_

The message stares at him from its cozy white bubble, and Marti stares back, not sure what to do. 

He barely had the time to check his phone all day, copying other people’s homework or being grilled for missing the test or trying to read Eva’s lips when the teacher was quizzing him about historic battles. Frankly, it was hell, but at least he’s done with it and is now chilling on the sunlit terrace of the Baretto with Luchi, waiting for the other two boys to join them. The plan is to head straight to Gio’s and play FIFA until Garau senior leaves for work, then fool around with the scooter, away from the man’s reproachful eye.

_I dreamed of you today, you know_

Dreamed how, Martino wants to ask. Was it anything like that time he dreamed of them both in the shower? Luchi starts making ungodly sucking noises, chasing the last drops of his aranciata with a straw, and Marti chuckles to himself about the timing. 

_Good dream?_ he types out, and sends it before he can change his mind. 

_Nico (pilates): Weird dream. I was cooking a huge pot of pasta and you kept tasting it and spitting it out. Don’t remember much else_

Not a sexy dream, then. 

_Very weird. Google what it means, could be a dark prophecy:p_

_Nico (pilates): I think it means that I miss you again_

Marti grins, grabbing the phone with both hands and hunching until he’s almost doubled over it.

_I miss you more! School was super terrible today_

_Nico (pilates): My poor Marti:( if you need an emergency kiss you can have the one I left you, I don’t mind_

He glances sideways at Luca, who’s stuffed four ice cubes in his mouth, and imagines his reaction to Marti suddenly kissing his own arm. Yeah, no. 

_Can’t right now. It wouldn’t feel the same as with you, anyway_

See, Nico’s not the only one who can be bold. Martino wants to be bold too.

He spent so long second-guessing and talking himself out of things, trying to mind the consequences. He had to. But something shifted yesterday when Nico stormed back into the laundry room. Some age-old knot loosened and untied under Nico’s tender pressure, every touch of his hands and lips spelling _You can have this now_ right on Marti’s skin. _It’s all for you._

Nico types and types, making Marti increasingly curious and slightly intimidated. Then the typing stops, no message coming through, and just before Marti starts worrying for real, the screen lights up with a call. He puts the phone to his ear right away.

“Hello?”

“Hi Marti! Oops, I didn’t even ask if you can take the call... sorry. Is this okay, are you busy?”

Luca catches his eye and mouths _Gio?_ , making Marti shake his head and improvise.

“Uh. Yeah, I can talk right now… mom.”

“Ohhh, undercover Marti, that’s cool.” He hears the smile in Nico’s voice and just like that, his heart starts beating faster. God, he’s really losing it. “Right, so what I meant to say is… I know I told you I’d have uni and work all day today, but, um. I had another look at my schedule and we could still meet? It’s totally fine if you have other plans by now, no worries, I just thought I better ask—” 

“Where?” Marti surprises them both with his reply, too frank, too eager, but his voice doesn’t obey him anymore. “When?”

Nico’s still sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “Can you come to the gym in an hour?”

“Sure, that’s plenty of time.”

“Bring your swim trunks.”

“...okay.” He’d say okay if Nico asked him to bring a cake and a talking parrot. 

“Great. I’ll text you how to get in there, ok?”

“Yeah, thanks.” _I’m seeing Nico today._ It’s hard to keep a straight face for Luchi. “Bye, mom.”

It’s not until Marti starts stuffing his jacket in the backpack that Luca realizes he’s leaving. “Wait, you’re not staying till Gio and Elia show up?”

“Nope, gotta go, bro. Urgent family business.”

“You don’t want to see the scooter?” The way Luchi says _the scooter_ makes it sound like Gio got himself a Ferrari. 

Marti walks around the table to stand in front of him, chewing on his lip. “I might join you later, okay? Tell the guys I’m sorry.”

Luchi mumbles something that Marti doesn’t quite catch, his chin almost touching his chest.

“What?”

“You don’t want to hang with us anymore since you lost that bet.”

_Oh dear._

He has to crouch to get into Luchi’s eyeline, feeling absurdly like a parent with a pouting child in the middle of a mall. “Not true. It’s just been a crazy couple of weeks for me. You’re my best friends, come on.”

“So you _will_ come after FIFA?”

“Can’t say when exactly, I’ll do my best. Wouldn’t want to miss the sight of you falling off a scooter, eh?”

This earns him a reluctant smile and a shove. “Fuck off.”

“Your word is my command!” Marti stands up, using the opportunity to mess up Luchi’s hair. “See you later, bro.”

_Now,_ he thinks, jogging down the stone steps to the bus stop, _to find those swim trunks I might actually have to call mom._

* * *

For once ATAC seems to cooperate and Martino arrives at his destination way before the agreed time. There’s no rush, really, but he finds it impossible to be languid — not when the distance between him and Nico is already so short. He hops off the bus, jogs across the street to the entrance. 

Briefly, he remembers his agonizing indecision on this very spot, the anxiety of meeting Nico again after their shower encounter. How much easier it seemed to run and leave his doomed crush behind, tough it out on his own like a bad fever.

_That was me last week,_ Marti thinks incredulously. _Feels like months ago._

The directions in Nico’s text guide him to the boys’ locker room on the second floor. It’s empty, but with signs of frantic activity all around: wet tracks of multiple feet on the floor, abandoned towels, a pair of Spiderman-themed swimming goggles under a bench. Curious, Martino rounds the lockers and sticks his head into the equally empty shower room. The door on the opposite side is ajar, letting in a whiff of chlorine and the shrill bickering of several kids splashing in the water.

“You pushed me!”

“You pushed me first!”

“Gabriella, leave Elio alone and continue kicking, please. Keep those legs as straight as you can, all of you! Long and strong like a dolphin’s tail, come on!” 

The splashes intensify, a perfect soundtrack to Martino’s heart sputtering and leaping to his throat at the sound of Nico’s voice. It doesn’t matter that they saw each other less than a day ago — Marti _needs_ to see his face, talk to him, touch him. Waiting for the class to end is not an option.

It takes seconds to throw on his faded t-shirt and swim trunks, and two minutes to fix his hair where it flattened against the window of the bus. Finally, he crosses the shower room and pushes on the door to sneak inside. 

The first thing Marti notices is a bunch of kids treading the water, the brightly-colored swimming caps making their heads look like rubber balls bobbing up and down. They’re all gathered around another kid who’s floating facedown and blowing out a steady stream of bubbles.

“See? You keep your body parallel to the surface and blow out air, _calmly_ , out of your mouth and nose. It’s very easy if you relax and let the water support you.” 

The red cap turns out to be Nico’s — he’s there in the middle of the little crowd, helping the floating boy find his footing again and nodding at him reassuringly. This is when Martino’s flip-flops give out a loud squeak, making every pair of eyes in the room fixate on him.

“Marti! You’re here already!” 

Nico draws out his name like it’s something grand, like he’s never received a more treasured guest, and Marti fights the desire to dive in and close the distance between them. He waves instead, smile wide and eyes squinted against the shimmering of the water. 

“Hi! You mind if I wait here? I’ll be quiet, I promise.” _Please don’t send me away, I want to watch you be yourself with others because everything you do fascinates me._

“Of course, come here. Help me keep an eye on these troublemakers.” Nico turns back to the group. “All right, everyone, out of the water, ten squats, grab a noodle, and come right back. But no running!”

The kids give out excited yips as they climb the ladder out of the pool one by one. Nico ignores the ladder and pulls himself out with his arms easy and nimble to perch on the edge. He reminds Marti of an otter in his shiny black wetsuit, only his feet, hands and face left bare. 

“Don’t laugh, ok, the kids refuse to wear them if I don’t,” Nico says when Marti walks over. 

“Hm?”

Nico points to his swimming cap with a self-deprecating sigh. “I know I look like a tadpole.” 

Marti doesn’t answer straight away, takes his time sitting down by Nico’s side. Their knees brush as he lowers his shin in the water next to Nico’s.

“That’s too harsh, Ni. You don’t look _that_ weird.” In all honesty, Nico has nothing to worry about. Without the curls to soften the impact, the strong lines of his face seem even more striking — the perfect curve of his mouth, the thick charcoal smudges of his eyebrows. _Beautiful_. “On second thought, I think it suits you.”

Nico’s shy, tight-lipped smile dimples his cheeks in a most distracting way. “Thanks.” 

Marti is staring and he feels no shame — just frustration about having to wait before he can touch that face again. He never knew this kind of impatience before Nico; it’s hard to swallow down.

The kids start tumbling back in the water and Nico’s head whips immediately in their direction, breaking the spell. Right. Nico is still at work. 

“Now, dear munchkins, put those things in front of you, and try to float like I showed you. No, Elio, you need to —”

Nico slides back in the pool to demonstrate the exercise again. Marti hugs one knee to his chest and rests his chin on it, watching him fondly. Nico handles the kids well, the boisterous and timid ones alike. From the way they hang on his every word Marti can tell they adore him.

Instructions delivered, Nico returns to Marti’s side but stays in the pool with his back against the wall. Even as his eyes move from student to student with unwavering focus, the tips of his fingers find Marti’s leg in the water and run lazily up and down his instep — artless, absent-minded touches that make Marti’s stomach go fuzzy in seconds. 

Marti is not yet fluent in this wordless language Nico uses with him, but he’s getting there. This time he’s pretty sure he gets what Nico means.

_Thank you for being here._

* * *

Only Nico’s cajoling and angelic patience manage to get the kids out of the water when the class is over.  The girls are sent off on their own but Nico escorts the boys to the lockers himself. (“Marti, you have _no idea_ how messy they get without supervision, give me a couple minutes here.”)

A meditative quiet descends as soon as the kids and their instructor are out of the room. Miniature waves spill over the edge and vanish into the grates with a tiny hiss. The afternoon sun pours in through the tall windows, reaching the bottom of the pool in a web of glowing ripples. Just like Martino, the room seems to be holding its breath for Nico’s return.

It doesn’t take long. The door creaks and Nico slips in, looking more like a surfer now with his wetsuit still on but the swimming cap missing. The curls are free at last. 

Nico pads over and sits down on the edge, his side flush with Marti’s as if they’re on the wall again with all of Rome sprawled out below them. His lips press to the slope of Marti’s shoulder through the t-shirt before he headbutts the same spot like a big cat. 

Soft smile, tiny eyes. Pretty easy to read, that. _We’re alone at last, we can do whatever we want, and I’m so very happy._

Martino beams back at him. _Me too._

He doesn’t remember when Nico took his hand, but they’re clasped now, resting on top of Nico’s thigh. The next thing he knows they’re kissing, Nico’s free hand a warm weight on Marti’s neck. The throb of Marti’s pulse must be obvious there, and the realization sends big fat goosebumps all over his body. 

“Are you cold?” Nico, ever the observant one, pulls back with a small frown, thumbing the skin under Marti’s jaw. His eyes run over Marti like he’s looking for signs of frostbite.

“I’m fine,” Marti whisper-laughs, suddenly remembering that he, also, has one hand free for tugging Nico back where he wants him. Nico goes easily and it’s electrifying, a rush of power that leaves Marti dizzy.  _I can have this now._

The next time they break apart it’s because Marti’s stomach has no manners (to be fair, he barely had anything to eat since the morning). The growl is long and angry and, according to Nico, endearing. 

“I guess no point in asking if you’re hungry.” 

“Ignore it, I can grab something later.” Marti would really rather go back to kissing. 

“No no, you’re on my turf, I should take care of you. Actually, you’re in luck — I have my favorite snack with me today. We can share it.”  

“Is it a huge pot of pasta? Because I thought we dealt with that already.” Far from his best joke, but Nico’s low, breathy laugh is worth embarrassing himself over. 

“Dream food doesn’t count! I’m talking about Nutella and cheese sandwiches, the most delicious thing in the universe.” 

“Nutella and cheese, together? Sounds like a ton of calories.”

“So?” Nico must know he’s irresistible like this, with his head cocked to the side and a good half of his glossy curls tumbling into his eyes. There’s no way he doesn’t know. 

Marti pats his stomach, trying to match the flirty tone. “It’s an ok diet for someone like you, but Martino Rametta doesn’t hit the gym enough.” 

Nico just stares like Marti suddenly switched to Chinese. 

“I mean… I’m just a regular guy and you’re...fit.” _Bravo. Not even Petrarca could have put it better._

Nico lets out a pained kind of sigh, taking hold of Martino’s face and looking at him firmly. “Martino Rametta is not some regular guy. Not to me.” He tucks a bit of hair behind Marti’s ear, making his brain go completely offline for a second. “Please tell Martino that he doesn’t need to change a single thing about himself, especially not to eat some toast. Whoever makes him think such things... can fuck off.” 

The speech starts sweet and ends defiant, like Martino’s self-doubt has become Nico’s personal enemy.  

Marti swallows around a sudden dryness in his throat. “Fine, you convinced me. Let’s try it.” 

Nico’s little frown dissolves in a smile and he makes to stand up but Marti beats him to it. The least he can do in exchange for free snacks is help serve them. Nico’s familiar duffel bag is tossed at the foot of a plastic palm tree in the corner. Martino picks it up as Nico leans back on his arms and starts kicking up water. 

“Try the big pocket on the right, there should be a... yeah, the container. Bring it over, please.” 

Martino is about to zip the bag closed when he feels a long buzz against his palm and fishes out Nico’s phone. “I think someone’s calling you, Ni.”

“Mmm? Who?”

“Some...doctor? I don’t know, it just says “therapy”. You want the phone?” 

When he looks up from the screen, Nico’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are tinged with pink. Martino gets the sinking feeling he needs to apologize for some kind of misstep.

“Oh, um. Just leave it.” Nico clears his throat. “Actually, no, let me check what it’s about. Thanks.” 

The phone has stopped buzzing by the time Nico snatches it from Martino’s outstretched hand and starts typing. Standing over him with the lunch box seems awkward, so Martino settles back down, peeking at Nico out of the corner of his eye. 

“Everything ok? If you need to talk in private, just tell me, I can...”

“What, no!” A hand grips his knee, pressing on it before Martino even tries to move. Nico puts the phone aside and scoots closer, hooks his ankle around Marti’s like another anchor to keep him from going. “It was about my old sprain. Long story. Whatever, I’ll call them later.” There’s no trace of worry in his face anymore. “Oh, you got the box. Let’s eat.”

They share the toast, laughing and trying to smudge each other’s faces with sticky fingers. The Nutella-and-cheese combo is cloyingly sweet, but Martino is too hungry to be picky. Nico kisses the crumbs off Marti’s hand, one and two and three and four, each tickling brush of his lips travelling up Marti’s arm to his chest and spilling out in helpless giggles.

They’re still eating, passing a can of lemon tea back and forth, when Nico’s phone vibrates shortly against the tile. 

“A teksht,” Nico says over a mouthful of toast and slides his thumb over the screen to unlock it. He stops chewing as his eyes flit over the message, then swallows stiffly. “...oh for fuck’s sake.”

Marti freezes mid-sip, watching Nico hide his face in his hands with a groan. “What happened?”

“It’s from my boss.” Nico mumbles into his fingers like he’s trying to push the words back into his mouth. “The situation... changed. I thought I’d have at least an hour and a half with you, but Rossi just decided to put me on the next water aerobics class.”

Marti kinda hates this Rossi guy already.

“He knows I need practice hours for uni so I can't refuse.” Nico finally lets go of his face, hands dropping limply into his lap. “It just had to happen today, huh. I’m sorry, Marti. Dragged you here for nothing.”

Nico’s guilty tone and downcast eyes jolt Marti’s insides with the urge to _fix_ something. Seeing him so deflated is almost unnatural _,_ like hearing a favorite song played off-key. Without thinking, Martino lifts a hand and brushes Nico’s cheek with his knuckles, along the invisible line that creases so beautifully every time he smiles.

“Hey, look at me, Ni. How long do we have until that class?”

Nico leans into the touch, finally looking at Marti with the resolution of someone confessing to a heinous crime. “Twenty minutes, tops.”

“So, plenty of time to race you to the other end and back? We have to use the pool while we still can.” 

Nico’s eyes light up again. “You’re not mad at me? For having to send you away early?”

Marti’s hand unfurls to cradle Nico’s jaw and bring his face closer, close enough to squish the tips of their noses together. “Of course not. I wanted to see you so much, I would have taken that bus if you had _five_ minutes to spare.”

Who cares if he sounds desperate, this is the truth. At some point last week his body decided Nico was the new oxygen and he let it happen. Now, with Nico’s grateful smile against his palm, the realization doesn’t intimidate Martino at all. For the first time in his life, he’s not falling alone.

“Marti, do you have any idea how cute you are?” Nico covers Martino’s mouth with a hand to smother his protest and smacks a kiss on top. “Unbearably cute. But you’re not racing me in this.”

Martino pries the hand off his face. “What do you mean?”

A playful finger slips under Marti’s collar and tugs the material away from his skin. “Take this off, or you stand no chance against me.” Nico’s eyebrows jump and his head teeters on his long neck like some kind of cheeky sunflower. He plants his hands on the edge and slides into the pool. “Hurry up, we don’t have all day!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marti reaches back over his shoulders to yank the shirt off. The look on Nico’s face when he’s finally topless is equal parts gratifying and bewildering. People rarely give Marti a second glance, but Nico’s gaze is heavy like a physical touch, taking him in with the hunger of someone who might never be allowed to do so again. 

Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, really. Martino just doesn’t have the words yet to express how little is left of his walls, how willingly he’d give up anything for Nico. 

He follows Nico into the water, hissing at the coolness. “There and back?”

Nico nods and takes the lane next to Marti’s. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”

The race is a blur. Martino tries to use every trick Elia taught him in Bracciano last summer, from arm positioning to the right tempo of exhales, but he still expects Nico to come out in front. Surprisingly, they reach the starting point together, slapping the wall with open palms, panting harshly through toothy grins when they surface.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in every direction like a particularly adorable haystack. “I’m impressed! You’re a decent swimmer, Marti.”

Martino rolls his eyes. “This wasn’t a fair fight. Pretty sure you went easy on me to soothe my ego.”

“Oh? Why would I need that?” Nico starts inching closer, still holding onto the edge. The look of betrayed innocence coupled with the low teasing tone is doing wicked things to Marti’s stomach.

“Dunno, maybe you want something from me.” 

Nico bites down a smirk as he leans in, eyes darting to Martino’s mouth. “Maybe I do. But you know what I noticed, Marti?” He’s almost whispering now. “You...are very shitty at accepting compliments. We need to work on that.”

A snort and half-hearted push in the chest make Nico burst out laughing, but only for a second. He catches Marti’s hand on his sternum and keeps it there, nudging his thumb into the softness of Marti’s palm. 

“I mean it, though. Let’s play the compliment game. It will be fun, I promise.”

“The compliment game? What’s that?” 

“It goes like this: I give you a compliment and you have to accept or decline.” 

“What happens if I decline?”

“I have to think of a better one. Until you’re convinced.”

“And how do I accept?”

“You say ‘thanks, Nico’, and let me kiss you. Then we move on to the next one.”

Nico looks pleased with himself and braced for Marti’s rebuttal at the same time. A rebuttal that doesn’t come because, for the nth time today, a nameless emotion starts expanding from Marti’s chest outwards until he is sure if he looked down his heart would be pulsing visibly under the skin. 

Trust Nico to cook up the silliest excuse to flatter Marti and give him kisses. Well then, Marti is not letting him do all the work. 

“We can play, only let’s take turns. I start. You have a very nice nose.”

“Nose? Really?”

“Do you decline it?”

“No, no. Thanks, Marti.” Nico receives the kiss with puckered lips that flatten in a smile halfway through. “My turn. I adore all of your tattoos. The panther. The palm tree. And the heart. They're awesome.”

“Thank you, Nico.” A soft kiss. “There’s...one more though.”

“One more tattoo?” Nico’s eyes run over him in confusion. 

Marti nods, blushing and wondering what possessed him to say anything. “You’ll see…sometime. My turn.”

It barely takes four turns for the game to turn messy. Both of them keep breaking the rules, heaping several compliments in one go, moving in for kisses without the obligatory “thank you”, and the option of declining is forgotten entirely. 

The pivotal moment comes on round six (“You’re crazy handsome when you smile, Marti. I mean, you always are, but…”). Martino pulls Nico in by the small of his back and kisses him as hard and long as he can, without any intention to let him finish or to continue the game.

_We’re running out of time and I didn’t get enough of you._

Nico seems to agree with this logic, kissing him back open-mouthed and hot. Marti’s senses narrow down to Nico’s tongue in his mouth, the weight of Nico’s arms around his neck, the sloshing of the water between their chests. Every sound they make seems to echo across the entire pool, and instead of embarrassing Marti it just makes him want to be louder. He’s pretty sure the temperature of the water is the only thing helping him preserve the last traces of his dignity. 

The clamor of female voices coming from the girls’ showers yanks them back into the present. Nico leans back and smiles at the mopey look on Martino’s face. His lips are a richer shade of pink than normal, a darker green in his eyes too. 

“The water aerobics ladies are here, I’m afraid.”

* * *

It’s usually Luca, not Marti, who likes to dig up sci-fi bullshit about the afterlife, parallel universes, and out-of-body experiences. But today is apparently the day Marti will have to set his scepticism aside. It is, in fact, possible for the mind and the body to disconnect and go their own ways. Case in point: his body is once again at the mercy of Roman potholes, shaking and jolting in the bus seat on the way to Gio’s. His mind is still in the pool with Nico. 

They parted in a hurry, Nico trying to apologize again and Martino refusing to hear it, making Nico promise to call when he’s done for the day, if only to say goodnight. His every step after Nico finally left him on his own has felt programmed, decidedly less real than everything that just happened between them. Some woman in the hallway gave Martino a dirty look as he stumbled distractedly out of the lockers and in her way, and he just smiled in response. He’s been smiling to himself ever since, walking down the stairs and getting on the bus, looking like a weirdo and not caring one bit. 

Nothing and no one can possibly dampen his mood today. Not the disgustingly slow traffic, not the intense mix of sweat and cologne rolling off the guy in front, and not the annoying voice behind him babbling over the phone for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, exactly. Mhm. I don’t get it either... Anyway, this is Colino we’re talking about. He always crawls back to me in the end, it’s just how he is.”

Marti fishes out his phone and plugs the earphones in. As the first sounds of Jamie XX fill his head, he slumps in the seat and closes his eyes in pure bliss. He feels invincible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Penetrator Chris voice * dramaaaaaaaa
> 
> The chapter title inspiration is, obviously, Friday I'm In Love by The Cure. This song is as old as me jfc
> 
> So, the cancellation news was in before I started writing this chapter, and boy, it was hard to go on. But here we are. I'm still as gone for these two as ever and I hope you are, too. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. Love, B
> 
> P.S. You can also head to chapter 10 and 11 notes to check out two wonderful fanarts for the fic!


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